


The Same Coin

by theforceofdarkandlight



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Comfort/Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25010629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theforceofdarkandlight/pseuds/theforceofdarkandlight
Summary: You and Javier Peña are begrudging coworkers—nothing more, nothing less. Two people with a job to do but very different ideas on how to get it done. Much to your dismay, things never go according to plan; not when it comes to Escobar, or anything else.
Relationships: Javier Peña & Reader, Javier Peña/Reader, Javier Peña/You
Comments: 34
Kudos: 168





	1. Prologue

You are not fond of Javier Peña.

It’s not so much dislike, or even distaste, really—but more of a…mutual disagreement on how things ought to be done. Not that either of you claimed to stand on any moral high ground, but you tended to keep things as clean as possible. Peña, meanwhile, had his methods. 

This is all more evident as you listen to the incessant sound of the phone that’s been ringing while he’s clicking away at his typewriter, taking his time before finally picking it up.

“Peña,” he answers, putting out his cigarette. He listens for a second before looking up, giving you a nod as he jots something down.

When he hangs up, he finishes typing before slipping the note into his pocket.

“We’ve got a lead,” he says hurriedly. He tosses his paperwork aside, opening the drawer for his gun and gesturing for you to do the same.

“Are you going to run it by the ambassador first?” you ask, though you already know the answer. You lean back in your chair with no intention of getting up. He always does things his way, regardless of what anyone tells him. You’ve worked with him long enough—a year? Longer? No one has the energy to keep track of these things. But it’s been long enough for the two of you to know exactly how to grind each other’s gears.

“I’d rather keep this one discreet,” he remarks, raising his brows with an unspoken _Just go with it_.

You glare up at him, unamused. “Peña, you’re already walking on thin ice around here. You want me to put my ass on the line, too?”

He clenches his jaw and impatiently rests his hand on the desk, leaning towards you. He’s got frustration in his eyes that probably matches your own. 

“All I’m asking is that you help us get just one bit of useful information to work with,” he whispers. You can hear the annoyance in the stain of his voice. “We’re chasing our fucking tails with how they’re doing things here—even Escobar knows that. Don’t you get tired of following the damn rules all the time?”

“Why can’t you get Steve to go with you?,” you counter. You cross your arms and bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to let your own irritation show too much. “I think he’d be much better company for you,” you shrug.

Unfortunately for Steve—who was more of a friend than coworker to both of you—he could never pick a side. He was fine with it, though, always finding a bit of amusement in letting you two bicker.

“Sorry to disappoint, but they assigned Murphy to go with Trujillo today,” Peña answers impatiently. “You really think I’d ask you if I didn’t need to?” He straightens, putting a hand on his waist and leaning to the side in that goddamn arrogant stance he always has.

You let out an irritated sigh, shaking your head but pulling your own drawer open anyways. Stowing the gun behind your back, you stand and follow him out.

“Don’t worry. If we get caught you can pin it all on me,” he jeers. You shake your head, knowing he’s patronizing you.

You’re met by the usual hot air and humidity as you step outside, walking towards his Jeep. Heat waves radiate off the ground, prompting you to roll up your sleeves and wish you’d dressed lighter today.

“This better be worth it,” you mutter as you hop into the passenger seat and shut the door.

“It’s better than doing all that paperwork and you know it,” he retorts, though his tone is calmer now. He’s always content whenever he convinces you to get in on his schemes.

You decide it’s not worth arguing over anymore and drop the subject. He turns on the AC and slips on his aviators before pulling out of the parking lot.

You’ve been driving for a while, listening to nothing but the sounds of street traffic, when you realize you’re in an area of the city you’re not familiar with. You’ve never seen these buildings before. Even the street signs look different, with names you’ve never heard of.

“Who’s the informant this time?” you ask, breaking the silence. You continue to watch the unfamiliar businesses and buildings pass your window.

“Classified,” he answers curtly, to which you roll your eyes. He keeps his eyes on the road.

“Right. How much can we trust this information?” you reply. 

“We can trust them,” is all he gives you.

You sigh and turn to him. “Look, Peña, I’m glad you have your code for your sources, but if you’re gonna drag me along on this stuff, I’d like to be more informed.”

“And I’m _telling you_ that all we’re doing is staking out this address. Quica and his guys are supposed to be meeting there, and if we can figure out who they’re talking to we may be able to find a link to one of Escobar’s informants.”

Silence falls over both of you again and you look out the window, observing as people go about their lives.

You exhale quietly. Sometimes you ask yourself how you both managed to remain civil with each other. Work is work, and you have the same goal, after all. But it’s surprising just how many eggshells you’ve avoided walking over with him.

“ _Sometimes you have to do bad things to catch bad people,_ ” he’d said to you once. You can hear the words in your head sometimes. You’re never sure if it’s a reminder or a reassurance.

Peña’s not an asshole, not in the way the CIA thinks he is. But you often wonder how you’d gotten paired up with him despite how differently you work. There’s already so much chaos here; you would prefer not to feed the flames if you had the choice. Peña seems to see the chaos as all the more _reason_ to do everything in his power to put an end to Escobar. He’s got many… _sources_ of information that he’s willing to use. You never ask where he makes these connections, and you don’t know whose methods are better, but you’ve never liked being fire to gasoline. 

When you make it to your destination—a small, quiet neighborhood—he puts the car on idle and points out the alleged location; it’s a typical, innocent-looking flat, covered by some shade. Neither of you have anything to add, so it’s quiet again except for the sounds of people on the sidewalks. Some of them are sweeping their front steps or watering their plants, chatting quietly with their neighbors.

You both sit and wait for long enough that you start to question whether anyone was coming in the first place. You unbuckle your seatbelt and take a swig from your water bottle, resting your elbow on the window. You tap your foot on the floor of the car, which draws his attention.

Javier Peña is not fond of you. 

He glances at you for a split second behind his sunglasses. You only look mildly annoyed as you watch your surroundings. You’ve got one hand wrapped around the other, unconsciously massaging your fingers; a nervous tic you have, one he knows of because of how often you’re on these sporadic missions with him. He chuckles quietly without humor, wishing you’d be willing to bend the rules more. Between himself, you, and Murphy, there seems to be this spectrum of gray hues. This, he’s able to accept. But with new management and all eyes on the three of you now, it’s more important than ever for you to be on the same page. Someday you might see eye-to-eye with him. For now, you always do your part and he does his—getting the job done is all that matters, anyways. Whether you need to drown things out with a glass of whiskey or not, isn’t his concern.

Another twenty minutes go by when a car finally pulls up to the flat, and three guys get out. Peña sits up straighter. You stare in disgust when you realize one of them is, in fact, La Quica. You can’t help but feel relieved though; at least the informant was right. You ponder how far this information could move your case forward, watching as the _sicarios_ laugh and walk towards the door of the flat. They smile as though they’ve never watched blood spill by their own hands.

 _Pendejos_ , you think when you see how nonchalant they seem to be. 

Until one of them looks towards the Jeep—and meets your eyes. _Shit_.

The guy turns and says something to the others, nodding in your direction. _Did they recognize this car?_ You bite the inside of your cheek and your pulse picks up a bit. 

“ _Peña_ ,” you whisper through closed teeth. 

You barely turn your head to look at him, but his eyes are locked on La Quica. You start to suggest driving away, but don’t get the chance to finish. A shot rings out and a bullet shatters the windshield as you both cover yourselves from the flying glass. It misses both of you, but when you turn back towards them, they’re all running. One of them shoots a few more times towards you as he runs.

“Fuck!” Peña hisses, cocking his gun as he opens the car door and runs after them. Not even a second passes before you get out and follow in pursuit, swearing under your breath.

You’re not far behind Peña when you run past the entrance of their meeting spot—a movement catches your eye, and you see another _sicario_ , who takes off in the opposite direction. You turn on your heels and follow alone, firing a few times at him. He’s faster. The Colombian heat beats down on you as you chase him through the streets and narrow alleyways. He shoots at and misses you. You’ve almost caught up to him when he pushes a bystander off their motorcycle, driving away and leaving you in the dust.

“ _Damn it_ ,” you mutter to yourself, catching your breath. More shots ring out in the background, and you take another deep breath before running back in Peña’s direction.

The streets are cleared of people now, and you have no idea where the other _sicarios_ went. You follow the sound of another gunshot, turning a sharp corner when someone slams, hard, into your body. You let out a grunt and swear again before realizing it’s Peña, who steadies you before hunching over, panting.

“They got away,” you state; it’s not a question. He nods.

You don’t know where you are anymore and tuck your gun away as you look around. “Let’s go find the car—” you start, taking a step forward when he grabs your wrist. 

You turn to him questioningly, and he’s still panting when you notice he’s got his hand over his thigh. Your eyes widen when you see the blood that’s pooling around the hole in his jeans. He’s been shot. _And he didn’t even care to immediately point it out_ , you mentally roll your eyes.

“Fuck, Peña—” you reach out, and he tries to take a step forward.

Before you can stop him, his legs give out and he collapses onto you.


	2. One

You’ve just finished getting ready to start the day when you hear three loud knocks at your door. Hurriedly buttoning up your blouse, you go answer it and find Steve standing outside with his hands on his hips.

“Peña’s out of the hospital and back home now,” he informs you.

You briefly remember the scene from a couple days ago. He’d been fine, of course, just bleeding out and unable to stand. A local helped you call an ambulance while you got Peña upright and put pressure to the wound. Much like he always did, he spent a bit of time swearing under his breath when he claimed you were making too much of a fuss over it. You had to drive the Jeep back, so he went off to the hospital on his own once the paramedics arrived. You made sure he was going to be okay before you left him, and Steve went to visit him so you assumed he was recovering.

“Okay,” you comment. _This couldn’t wait?_ “Is he alright?”

“He’ll be off work and on crutches for a few weeks,” he answers. He looks down at the floor before looking back up at you.

“What is it?” you ask suspiciously.

“They…put us in charge of watching over him until he’s back at work. Mostly you.” He mutters the last part, and you raise your brows.

“What? Why me?” you ask, confused.

“You’re the one who lives next door to him,” Steve answers, matter-of-factly. He and Connie live a couple floors above you, so logistically he’s right. But that doesn’t mean you want to be his personal nurse.

“Yeah, but—” you start to say, a little louder.

“It’ll be _fine_ ,” he insists, patting you on the shoulder. “You just need to check in every now and then and make sure he’s getting some food and water in him.”

Steve grabs your hand and slips a key into it. “I’ll come by too, but you’ll be able to hear if he falls or something at night, right?”

At that, you can’t help but chuckle dryly. _Yeah, you can hear plenty, alright_ _._

~

After work, you drive back home and feel the tension leave your muscles once you step into the apartment complex. Work was uneventful, without any new leads or intel. Mostly it was just you and Steve poring over mindless paperwork. As expected, you’d gotten quite the scolding from the colonel and Messina today. This was nothing new; not with Peña for a partner. But it was the first time he’d gotten himself hurt in one of his schemes, which didn’t look good on either of your parts. You didn’t feel like hashing it out with them, so you took your warning and left, opting to chide Peña on it on your own time.

Steve had gone out with Connie after leaving today, so it’s on you to check on Peña first. The heels on your shoes clack as you make your way down the dim hallway to his door. He should still be fresh off the IV painkillers from the hospital, so he probably won’t be awake to answer. You pull out the key Steve gave you and unlock it, the cool air greeting you as you enter his flat.

It’s not your first time in his apartment. You and Steve have often had late nights here, working on some new lead after hours. Only a lamp’s faded light is on, but you hear rustling inside.

“Peña,” you call out. You find him in the kitchen, trying to heat something up in the microwave while leaning on his crutches. His hair is tousled and messy, and he’s in a t-shirt and loose pants—a surprising sight and a stark contrast from his usual attire. He greets you with only a glance. You almost ask how he’s feeling but the cold gesture makes you decide against doing so.

You hold up the paper bag in your hand. “Steve picked up your painkillers,” you tell him, putting it on the counter.

“No need to knock before you enter,” he remarks sarcastically, pulling his food out of the microwave.

You roll your eyes, figuring he’d be in a bad mood. “You’re supposed to be in _bed_. Doctor’s orders. And you’re welcome,” you counter. _How does he manage to be insufferable even when fully medicated?_

“You really always go by-the-book, don’t you?” he clips, the sound of his crutches clanking on the tile as he walks over to you. _Jesus_ , Javier thinks to himself. _He already has to deal with you at work, and now he has to deal with this in his own home, too?_

“The hole in your leg says otherwise, although I wouldn’t say that’s my fault,” you answer tersely.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, Messina seems to have made you and Murphy my punishment,” he grumbles.

You purse your lips. “Believe me, this _thrills_ me, too, Peña. But I can’t have you collapsing on me anymore,” you say, which catches his eye. “I’ll get in trouble again,” you add, and he smirks at that.

“Ever the caring partner,” he huffs, though he’s mildly amused. He looks you up and down for the first time since you came in. He notices how you’re playing with the fabric of your shirt; another habit you have, typically when frustrated. Javier hates that he knows this, attributing it to how much all three of you are around each other. You see each other around the clock, so it’s impossible _not_ to pick up on the little things. For a moment he ponders what you might have picked up about _him_ —not that what you think of him matters.

You ignore the sarcasm in his voice, eyeing the box of bandages and bottles of antiseptic on the counter. In all honesty, you’re not sure how well he’s dressing his own wounds; he probably gives them a quick swipe and calls it a day. “Do you…need help changing your bandages? I know how to clean them—”

“No,” he cuts you off.

“Okay, well if you need me to get anything—”

“I’m fine,” he interrupts again. “So unless you want to help me _shower_ …” he says, sneering at the face you make.

“Yeah, I’m not sure even _Steve_ will help you with that,” you wave a hand dismissively.

“Anyways, these meds should knock you out for a while,” you continue, changing the topic. “Which means I can get some quiet on the other side of your wall, for once.” You’re only partially joking, but Javier doesn’t miss the mild embarrassment in your eyes. He chuckles without humor, but doesn’t respond.

A moment passes before you speak again and readjust the bag on your shoulder. “Get some rest, Peña,” you instruct. With that, you head back out the door as he watches you leave.

He sighs deeply, running a free hand through his hair. _Why can’t Murphy be the one who lives next door?_

~

You continue to alternate check-ins with Steve daily, always trying to come during evenings, when Peña’s more likely to be awake. The visits are brief and somewhat civil, although they usually involve you nagging him about one thing or another and getting snippy comments in response. Really, you know he’s a grown man and all, but even when injured he’s not terribly careful.

It’s not his fault his place is getting messier—he’s not fully mobile—but his flat is usually decently tidy, most likely for his “guests”. Now the place is covered in half-empty glasses and bottles of liquor, along with random things strewn haphazardly on the floor. You’ve told him often that the papers spilling across the floor are a safety hazard for him, but he brushes you off every time.

“You’re not on the job right now, you don’t need to be an asshole,” you tell him.

“ _You’re_ not at the office now either, lighten up a little,” he rebuffs.

Javier swears that if he hears you remind him to drink more water or be more careful one more time, he’s going to lose it. He tells you as much, but you’re never able to get through to each other. It’s always been like this as partners; of course it’s no different when you’re off the clock.

You seem to be under the impression that he’s impulsive; maybe he is, and maybe he’s not proud of everything he’s ever done. But Escobar plays the game according to his own rules—playing it safe only puts more people in harm’s way. Sooner or later you might understand, but until then he’s not going to wait around worrying until you do.

~

One night, you’re met with the sight of him, shirtless, sitting on the couch. He’s smoking a cigarette and barely looks up as you enter and walk towards him.

“Steve and Connie went grocery shopping and wanted me to bring you some stuff,” you tell him as you unload the plastic bags you’re carrying. “Looks like you’ve got some snacks and instant dinners to hold you over.”

“Thanks,” Peña answers, and you’re almost taken aback by the tiny bit of politeness.

He picks up the prescription bottle on the coffee table and uncaps it, shaking a pill out onto his hand before picking up his glass.

You look across the room at him and frown. “Are you taking your meds with _alcohol_?” you ask, probably louder than necessary.

You walk over and forcibly remove the glass in his hand, replacing it with the water bottle from your bag. He looks up at you, annoyed at your snatching of his drink. “Jesus, Peña, don’t you know anything? Are you _trying_ to get yourself back into the hospital?”

He responds by muttering something under his breath before throwing the pill back and downing it with the water.

“You know, me and Steve would have to come over a lot less if you took better care of yourself.”

“I don’t need you mother-henning me in the first place,” he retorts. “It’s a fucking leg wound, not something that’s gonna kill me.”

“That’s exactly what I thought, too,” you snap back. “Unfortunately for both of us, our bosses think otherwise.”

“Hey, I didn’t _ask_ for this,” he tells you, shaking his head. _God, you’re infuriating_.

“No? Neither did I,” you quip. “Fuck, Peña, do you not—I’m just trying to _help_.”

He exhales and puts the cigarette to his lips again, leaning back against the couch. You dig around in your bag for a granola bar and shove it in his direction.

“Do yourself a favor and eat something, or those meds aren’t going to sit right.” He groans but takes it, and you turn on your heels to leave.

Except, Javier never misses anything; especially not the way the thin fabric of your sleeve slides up on your skin as you hand it to him, revealing a sliver of something white on your arm.

He abruptly grabs your wrist, gently but it still takes you by surprise. “Wait,” he mutters in a low voice, stopping you mid-step. He turns your arm over, not making eye contact as he pushes the loose fabric of your sweater upwards, revealing the large white bandages that are covering the back of your arm, near your elbow. He can’t see the damage underneath, but his mouth presses into a hard line.

You bite the inside of your cheek as he examines it for a few seconds before you pull your arm away from his hand.

“I thought you and Murphy haven’t been in the field recently,” he whispers, his tone suddenly much softer than it was moments earlier.

“We haven’t,” you reply quietly. You know he’s not going to drop it by the way he’s looking at you. “It’s…from the broken glass. When the _sicarios_ shot at us in the car,” you shrug.

“Just because I was in a hospital, you didn’t think to mention you were injured?” he sounds offended, but there’s a different feeling cutting through the air, one that you can’t place your finger on.

It really isn’t a big deal, just a few superficial gashes that will heal easily—you’ve had much worse, working in the field. You hadn’t even meant to hide it, but the bandages aren’t a pretty sight and your work attire often consists of three-quarter sleeve blouses, or your favorite cardigan.

“Peña, it’s literally a few scratches. Hardly newsworthy,” you answer, though your own voice is calm now, too.

He has an unreadable expression in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he finally says.

“It’s not your fault,” you tell him simply, and you mean it. “And I’m not the one who got a bullet put into my leg,” you continue, offering the smallest of smiles.

Javier glances at the ground before looking back up at you, but you’ve already turned to leave.

Hunting Escobar meant you were all in life-or-death situations regularly, one way or another. But for an unknown reason he suddenly feels a bit heavier, and he doesn’t like it.

~

The radio’s playing as Javier sits on the floor, tossing away some bottles of liquor that are crowding his coffee table. _Christ_ , your nagging was starting to get to him. He wishes the stations would play something besides the latest news on Escobar. If there’s anything he hates about not being able to work, it’s that he has too much free timewhen he’s home alone. That, and the fact that Escobar and his _sicarios_ are still out there, and there’s currently not a damn thing he can do about it.

He’s been on crutches for a few weeks, and is now used to your coming and going. He watches as you drop some more groceries off in the kitchen, but notices you’re quieter than usual tonight. It’s not a proper check-in from you unless you’ve reprimanded him about not taking his meds, or skipping meals, or something else. Not that he’s complaining about a break from the incessant nagging, but his attention is drawn to the more pronounced lines that have appeared under your eyes lately. It doesn’t take long for him to drop his gaze, but he knows there must’ve been things happening at work that you haven’t mentioned. Or it might have just been one of those nights; he knows those too well. He definitely knows better than to ask about it.

“Wait,” he calls as you leave, and you take your hand off the doorknob before turning to him.

“Any new leads?” he asks. You almost have this look of pity for him in your eyes, which he hates.

You shake your head. “Messina’s running some intel by the ambassador tomorrow. If all goes well, we’ll be back to business soon.”

He nods. “Thanks,” he says curtly.

Your lips press together into a tense smile before opening the door and shutting it quietly behind you.

Javier rubs the back of his neck, his eyes lingering on the door for a moment. He exhales quietly; there’s nothing except the sounds of the radio show and the ticking clock on the wall. What annoys him most of all is how dangerous it is when he has this much time to _think_.

~

It’s the weekend, so you make plans to get breakfast at your favorite spot around the corner. The few people you know prefer to sleep in on Saturdays, so you’re on your own. It’s early, but your stomach still grumbles with hunger. This makes you think of what Steve said about making sure Peña kept himself fed—you know very well that on many nights, whiskey is the only thing anyone is able to keep down. For a second you hope he hasn’t been drowning his boredom with alcohol anymore—not that it’s your problem.  
  


At any rate, it’s probably too early to check on him, so you head out and plan to do it later.

~

Javier wakes up after an unrestful sleep, still groggy, and shuffles into the kitchen to find something to eat. He walks over to the cupboard to find a bowl, propping himself up on one leg. _How much longer with these damn crutches_? he grumbles to himself.

He takes the crutches out from under his arms, resting them against the wall and limping over to the sink. Pain sears up his leg and he hisses, but he hates needing the physical support—or any other support, for that matter. He’s about to fill a pot with water when he sees a package on the counter, wrapped in tin foil.

He grabs it, realizing it’s a large, warm plate of food with a note on top. _Dinner. Eat, cabrón,_ it says in your scribbled handwriting.

For the first time since the incident, his lips curl into a small, genuine smile. _You really are infuriating_ _,_ he thinks. _But somehow, it’s almost endearing._

~

It’s raining outside tonight, a light shower but it seems relentless. You hop over a puddle of water as you step into your complex and close your umbrella. It’s Steve’s turn to check on Peña, so you can go straight to your flat, much to your relief.

Your clothes are wet, so the cold air conditioning gives you goosebumps as you open the door. Turning on a single light in the foyer, you pry your wet shoes off, followed by the damp cardigan you have on. You’re not dry yet, but you almost feel a little better. Tonight calls for a hot shower, but you don’t have the energy for it, so you make your way to the bedroom.

You don’t bother turning on the lights as you strip yourself of the day’s burdens and change into something cleaner and lighter. If only your mind worked that way, too. As you crawl into bed, you feel as though you could just sink right in and disappear. The soft covers don’t do much to comfort you, and you’re not quite ready to lie down yet so you sit with your back against the headrest, rubbing your eyes from exhaustion. The rain continues to fall outside your window.

Images from today fill your mind. It was another day in the field, one you were supposed to spend tracking down a low-tier _sicario_. Instead, you found a bloody crime scene Escobar decided to leave behind to prove a point. You had no doubt Steve was at a bar now, doing what he could to drown out the sight.

It’s not something you’ll ever get used to. Despite yourself, you think of more mundane things—your many meals eaten alone, the quiet drives home with only your mind keeping you company. Somehow, it makes things easier for you this way. You don’t want to imagine the possibilities otherwise. _It’s for the best_ , you tell yourself on nights like this—but repeating it doesn’t make it any easier to believe.

When your head finally hits the pillow and you pull the blanket up to your chin, you can’t help but allow yourself to wonder what it would be like if you didn’t have to face all of this on your own. It’s a common thing for you; empty thoughts in a dark and empty room, before fatigue finally overpowers your conscience.

On the other side of your thin bedroom walls, Javier lights another cigarette, deciding whether he wants to turn up the volume on the TV or turn it off entirely.

He’d already heard what happened from Steve. No, he wasn’t at the scene. But he should’ve been, instead of being stuck at home and helpless. When he’s out in the field, he likes to think he’s able to stomach it all better, running on pure adrenaline. He runs his hand along his jaw, willing the anger and tension to leave him. He wasn’t even part of this mission, nor did he make any of the calls, but somehow he knows it’s going to be another long night. He’s had worse days where he can’t take it anymore, finding comfort only in the arms of some woman he doesn’t know. Even then, it’s more of a distraction than anything else.

The guilt never leaves him—it’s a weight he deserves to carry. Every decision he makes affects something, or someone else. Whether he’s ever made a good choice, he’s not sure. But when he looks at the bandages covering the wound in his leg, tracing the edges with his finger, he knows he’s tired of dragging other people down with him.


	3. Two

You roll your neck and shoulders, trying to relieve some of the aches from the day. As of late, you’ve been sedentary at work, and it’s starting to have an effect on your muscles. You look across the desk at Steve, who’s been in the same boat. This new management is really starting to get on your last nerve. Lately they’ve been restricting the amount of time you’re on the field. Before anything makes it to your desk, it has to first collect dust on the ambassador’s, then the colonel’s, then Messina’s. They’ve claimed all this funneling of information is for “efficiency”—you’re not entirely sure they know what the word means. By the time any intel makes it into your hands, it may as well have never been reported at all. You can imagine the laughs this system has given Escobar as he continues to be a free man from one day to the next.

Steve puts out his cigarette and meets your tired eyes. “You good for the day?” he asks, the same exhaustion in his own voice.

“I’m going to try to get ahead on some of tomorrow’s bullshit before I head out,” you say with a sigh. “Can you take some of Peña’s stuff to him if you get home first? I’ll bring the rest after.”

He nods and stands up, tucking his gun behind his back before grabbing the files and heading out. Your desk lamp is the only thing lighting up the space as you work quickly to get the files sorted. You’re the last one here, but you’re nearly as alone as you are during the day, with only your thoughts and the messy stack of papers keeping you company. 

~

“That’s all we had for today,” you say, dropping the heavy stack of files onto the marble countertop. The large red stamp that says “CLASSIFIED” across the top of each folder is deceiving in its urgency; it’s more than likely just another pile of useless leads that Escobar’s already one step ahead of. But it has to be sorted through nonetheless, much to Javier’s annoyance—another long night of mindless paperwork awaits.

Javier’s off his crutches and back to work now, but only to an extent. He’s still unable to walk fully without a limp, and is currently assigned to working from home unless absolutely necessary—though he’s convinced that this is less about his safety and more about preventing him from going on another undisclosed mission. He’s only been back at the embassy a handful of times since getting shot, but if he can’t be involved in the action out in the field he may as well stay in his own place and let you and Murphy deal with the assholes that hover over everything you do.

He skims the stack of documents before looking up at you. “This is all?” he jeers sarcastically, raising his brows. 

“Hey, you didn’t have to deal with the shit that Steve and I had to look over today,” you remark. “Consider yourself lucky.”

 _Yeah. Another fucking wasted day. Real lucky_ , he thinks, huffing quietly as he flips the first folder open.

He observes silently as your eyes dart to the medication bottle on the counter, then to the kitchen. You carry the same tension in your posture every time you come over here—always making sure things are in their place, even off-duty. He almost rolls his eyes, but unconsciously stops himself before you turn back to him.

You don’t say anything, but he knows you’re just itching to mention the excess bottles of liquor, or the lack of any real food on his shelves. He’s been taking his meds and cleaning his wound like he’s supposed to, if only so you would leave him the hell alone about it. _Or maybe you were starting to get to him, more than he thought—and certainly more than he’s allowed._

“Do you need anything else?” you ask, tapping your fingers on the counter. It’s all become routine now—you ask if he needs anything, he replies that he’s a functional adult again and therefore should just be left alone. The usual. Though he’s recently noticed you don’t fidget with your hands or the fabric of your clothes as much anymore, for a reason he doesn’t know—why he’s caught on to this, he doesn’t know either. 

Javier shakes his head, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and lighting one.

“Well, then…I’ll leave you to it,” you continue. He watches as you leave his apartment for what has to be the thirtieth time, quietly locking the door behind you—as if he can’t do it himself—the familiar sound of metal clicking into place followed by your footsteps fading away.

~

As you drop off today’s documents, you wonder if Peña notices the slight change in your voice, the growing darkness under your eyes. Steve certainly had. “ _You look like hell_ ,” he’d told you at the office today. Truthfully, you’re just tired. Tired of running in circles and chasing someone who might as well be a ghost; a ghost that leaves chaos in its wake and haunts you at night. Tired of bosses who don’t seem to have a sense of urgency about any of it. So you probably do look a bit rough. But you’re too preoccupied to care. 

“Murphy told me it was a long day,” Javier comments, breaking your momentary reverie. You look up at him. 

_It’s been longer than that._

He takes a sip from his glass and gestures up and down at you with his free hand. Your hair’s a mess and your blouse is untucked and unbuttoned all the way, revealing the tank top you’re wearing underneath. “Have you, uh, slept recently?” he asks with a smirk on his face, his tone laced with teasing. You’re not in the mood for it.

“I don’t want to fucking hear it, Peña.” You say it in such a way that it wipes the grin off his face. 

If he’s bothered by your remark, he makes no indication of it. Instead of responding, he leans against the counter, waiting for you to continue.

“Work was work, but the ambassador gave us hell,” you explain, abruptly slamming today’s files down on the counter. “I don’t know what anybody’s problem is anymore—do they want to catch these bastards or not?”

Javier meets your eyes, speculating when the last time you actually got some rest was, if you slept as restlessly as he did. He quickly pushes the thought away—why should he be concerned? But he nods anyways, knowing the feeling well.

“I _have access_ to better CIs than the bullshit we’re given,” he remarks. “You’re the one who won’t get on board.” 

Your mouth twitches, and you can’t resist. “Another informant? Jesus, Peña, doesn’t your leg hurt?”

He glowers at you. “Not _that_ kind of informant,” he quips, muttering under his breath.

“Anyways, I don’t know what’s worse, mindless paperwork, or busting our asses while trying not to get killed out there,” you say under your breath, mostly to yourself.

A brief silence passes. “I know,” he finally says with resignation. He rubs the area over his brow bone, seeming to contemplate what else to say. “I know how those assholes are,” he adds, and you’re surprised that it sounds genuine.

The lack of a sarcastic response is unexpected. It’s almost as if a silent but mutual understanding has materialized between you, and you’re not quite sure how to feel about it. For now, at least, it’s a somewhat nice change.

Your lips curve into a reluctant smile. “But I have to deal with those assholes, _and_ you, too,” eliciting an eye roll and soft chuckle from him.

Another few ticks of the clock go by before you both turn to the stack of documents. Peña sighs.

You don’t know what overcomes you when you speak again. “I can help you go through it…if you want,” you offer with a shrug, though it sounds like a question.

He looks at you, a brow raised. “Why?”

You want to answer but you’re not too sure yourself. “The faster we can get this shit done, the sooner we can get back on the field.” _Just this once_ , you think. If Peña’s thrown off by your suggestion, he doesn’t let it show.

Without another word, you each take half of the pile and get to work.

~

There are many things you’ve never noticed about Peña’s apartment before—you ponder this as you sit on his couch, leaning over the coffee table perusing today’s documents. You’ve been here too many times now, but have never paid attention to the smaller things. The frames that line his wall don’t contain photos of other people, but of a few dogs; presumably his, but it makes you wonder if he’s not close enough to anyone to have a picture of them. There’s a lot of books stashed away on some shelves, covered in dust but worn as though they were once well-loved. A month ago you would’ve thought the only books Peña read were those titled _How to Be an Asshole 101_. But most of all, you realize his apartment is just about as empty as your own; minimal decor and just the essentials. The years have gone by here in Colombia, but you have never bothered to make the place feel more like home. A job is a job. Things may change by the minute when you’re DEA, but somehow the days are all exactly the same. A heavy conscience is all that fills your empty apartment, and that’s more than enough clutter for you. 

You snap out of it when he comes out of the bathroom, having just changed his bandages. The bullet wound has mostly resolved—that’s what he tells you, anyways. But he still walks with the limp, and you can tell he hates it; you know he’s not someone who can sit still and do nothing for such long periods of time. Fortunately—or not—he can do _some_ work at home. Somehow you’ve found yourself staying over more often to help get the work done; much more than the one-time occasion you’d convinced yourself it would be. At first it’s just a few spare evenings, quiet nights that would have been dull anyways; a few extra hours after work here and there, slowly making a dent in the piles of busy work you’re given. Steve comes over occasionally, but he actually has someone to go home to so it’s never for too long.

Several times you argue over the correct method to go about hunting down a new lead—conventional versus methodical, straight-forward versus roundabout. You bite the inside of your cheek when he doesn’t agree and he groans with exasperation. _But how much of it actually matters?_ you wonder. At the end of the day, Escobar still walks free. The last time you were on the field together, La Quica slipped from your fingers, and then some.

At some point, you attempt to explain your thought process; the reasoning, the logic. It’s not the first time you’ve tried to, but for some reason, Javier listens. _Really_ listens. And, even stranger to him, he starts to understand. His world doesn’t turn and he won’t change his mind anytime soon, but he slowly figures you out. And somehow, the few hours you spend in his flat have slowly turned into longer evenings that go well past midnight. 

It takes you longer, but down the line you unwittingly start to understand him, too; not a lot, and not completely by any means. But for the first time since working with him, you no longer have this urge to shoot daggers with your eyes when you look at him.

Tonight looks to be another one of those long nights. You rest your chin on your hand, watching as Peña plots out a map of the city, narrowing down the potential hideouts of Escobar’s men. These late nights are getting to you, and you let out a big yawn without noticing. He stops mid-sentence and meets your eyes, and for a second you think you see a hint of amusement; it’s quickly replaced by his usual stoic expression.

You take a moment to stretch your arms and back, and Peña gets up to walk over to the kitchen. You decide to move to the floor for a change, crossing your legs on the cold, hard tile. He comes back with two glasses and a bottle of liquor he didn’t even have to read the label on before grabbing.

“Drink?” he asks, setting the glasses down and joining you on the floor.

You nod and push your hair out of your face, taking a glass as he pours the clear liquid into it.

“Do you think we can find them?” you suddenly ask, swirling the drink around. “Any of them?”

He looks surprised by your question; not because it’s a strange one but because it’s not something that’s ever discussed. Plans are put into place, actions are taken, orders are followed. “ _We’ll get him_ ”, is the only thing spoken, a motto repeated in the face of defeat. “ _One way or another_.” For a long time you’ve all been running on autopilot, simply chasing down one chance after another. More losses than wins, yet everyone refuses to back down. It’s the sort of thing that starts to wear a person down when they’ve been doing it long enough.

He must be lost in the same train of thought, taking a few seconds longer to realize you’re waiting for an answer.

“I wouldn’t stay here if I didn’t,” is all he says, raising his glass.

It’s nearly the same thing you tell yourself, especially on nights when it’s harder to sleep. You purse your lips and nod, turning your attention back to the files at hand.

~

Javier turns out the lights and pulls himself under the covers, letting out a heavy sigh as he runs his hands over his face. He needs this damn leg to heal itself soon—every day he’s not on the field is another day he can’t go after those assholes. He considers contacting one of his CIs again, but for a second he feels a sensation he can’t explain. _Doubt?_ It’s not guilt—he can’t feel something that’s already made a home in the back of his mind. It’s fleeting, gone before he can think anymore of it. He thinks of you and wonders if it’s the same things that keep you up, because it’s obvious that _something_ does. When he finally lets himself close his eyes, he realizes he’s thought of you too often for his own liking. In his defense, you _have_ been at his place more frequently. But so has Murphy, to some extent, and it’s not like he’s been thinking of _him_ in his free time.

He groans and rolls over onto his good leg’s side and moves into the middle of his empty bed, waiting for the images that fill his thoughts every night to lull him into another restless slumber.

~

You’d come over straight after work tonight, not bothering to drop your stuff off at your own place first. 

Recently the higher-ups passed a new lead into your hands—a _good_ lead, and a usable one, for once. Finally having something interesting to follow, you’ve spent many more hours poring over the details. 

You haven’t even so much as looked up from the pictures on the table for at least an hour. Javier blinks the dryness out of his eyes as he leans back and massages the back of his neck, tempted to have another smoke. The clock reads 2:03. It’s later than he thought.

He stands up, putting the papers down on the table. “I’ll be back. Gotta change this dressing again,” he says quietly.

Somewhere between the complete silence and the sound of Peña shuffling around in his bedroom, you toss your pen down and lean back against the couch. Your back aches and the back of the couch is cool and comfortable. You uncross your legs, trying to relax for just a minute.

It’s a while before Javier walks back out into the living room, about to say something when he sees you leaning against the side of the couch with your eyes shut. You’re holding your hands close to your body, as though you didn’t mean to let yourself get comfortable. He initially resists the urge to smile at the sight, but lets out a chuckle when it becomes obvious you won’t catch him. He debates waking you up, assuming you’d rather not stay overnight at his place. But after a few moments he decides against it, turning to go back to his room.

 _You’ll just be grumpy if he wakes you up. Best to save himself the trouble of dealing with it._ Javier tells himself this as he pulls a spare blanket from the closet, then limps back out towards the couch. He gently shakes the thin blanket out and drapes it over you. It smells faintly of mothballs, but it’s clean and serves its function—his _other_ guests usually share his blanket. He’s about to go back to his room when the loud roar of the AC suddenly brings a cool breeze into the room. He looks at you again, readjusting the blanket and pulling it up over your shoulders.

He pauses before turning off the lamp beside the table, his gaze lingering on you. You haven’t moved; it must’ve been a longer day than you let on. You’ve still got those tired lines under your eyes, but when you’re _not_ nagging at him, you almost look peaceful. It’s such a marked disparity from the world outside that, just for a moment, he feels a bit at ease himself.

When he sees you like this, Javier decides that maybe you’re not so bad after all.


	4. Three

You pull your gun out of its holster, readying yourself against the side of the wall as Steve and Peña do the same. The sun beats down on you as you wait for the search bloc’s cue. Even if today’s mission is just a small-scale one, you’re glad to be back out in the field—and so is Peña, since it was his tip to begin with. Late last night, Peña received a tip from a previous CI regarding the whereabouts of a small lab. The colonel only allowed the use of fifteen men and a few cars, but this should be more than enough for the takedown of this particular site. Without the need for verification by Centra Spike, all three of you were promptly able to get the ambassador and Messina on board with the plan.

You’re shoulder-to-shoulder with the two of them now, waiting on the colonel’s signal as the men break down the entrance and toss a flash bomb inside. You’re given the cue as yelling erupts from inside and the whole search bloc barges in, sweeping the building. Gunfire from either side rings out, and when the smoke clears you’re able to make out the few _sicarios_ that have been taken out on the ground. 

The quiet only lasts a few seconds before more shouting and shots come from the stairwell. Suddenly, a slew of _sicarios_ start flooding the warehouse, coming from all corners and every room. They fire continuously and your ears start to ring from the noise. You take some of them out, but the shots keep coming and never cease.

“What the _fuck_!” Steve yells beside you as he continues to aim and dodge bullets. The three of you split up and scan the whole area, but you’re unsure of what you’re even looking for now. Your adrenaline’s running so you can’t process for long. _Peña said there would only be a few of Escobar’s men here, not a small_ army _of them._

The bloc continues to take them down one by one, and you’ve already made your way through most of the building when a bullet flies past your arm, hitting the wall behind you. You dodge behind a shelf and watch as two _sicarios_ fire at you, pushing themselves through the window in the room. One of them knocks a shelf over on his way out as a barricade, and you quickly follow suit, climbing over the hunk of metal and out the window. Javier and Steve hear the noise and make their way into the room, following after they see you throwing yourself onto the street outside.

Sweat starts to bead on your forehead as you chase after them, expertly dodging the objects they throw in your path. Innocent bystanders watch with concern and you dip past them—you’ve almost caught up and can hear Steve and Peña’s racing footsteps behind you. You always outrun those two—your lungs haven’t been bogged down by cigarettes the way theirs have. 

One of the men turns and shoots at you before disappearing through a doorway on the other side of the road; you’ve almost caught up to the other one so you make a split-second decision, letting this one go and continue running straight ahead.

You’re closing in on him when the _sicario_ abruptly turns into a narrow alleyway. You follow, but lose your footing and trip over a large piece of metal that he’d thrown to the ground. He dashes off and escapes as you get yourself up, groaning loudly. 

“Fuck!” you hiss at yourself.

As you go to pick up your gun off the ground, the other _sicario_ that had slipped away earlier appears out of nowhere, his gun pointed at you and ready to fire. You freeze like a deer in the headlights, your hands ready to fly up in surrender when a shot rings out from behind you. The bullet goes straight through the _sicario’s_ chest, sending his lifeless body to the ground.

You exhale in relief and whip your head around, meeting Peña’s eyes as he lowers his gun. He tries to catch his breath, giving you a curt nod. Seconds pass before you realize you’ve stopped breathing, but you return the nod after taking a deep breath. It’s the only thanks you’re able to give at the moment, since he gestures in the direction the _sicario_ escaped towards. The chase is still on, so you grab your gun off the ground and run alongside him.

You sprint back out into an open street where you see Steve pointing his gun at the _sicario_ , who’s got his own gun aimed right back. 

“ _¡Baja tu arma!_ ” Peña yells at him, but he doesn’t budge.

Your gun is pointed as well, but you briefly scope your surroundings. Aside from a few cars parked along the sidewalk, the street is void of any people. 

No one else seems to notice the unsuspecting truck that’s parked to your left, carrying large tanks with the word “ _gasolina_ ” stamped on them in faded white letters.

You turn your attention back to the _sicario_ , but it’s too late—his eyes go to where you were just looking, and Peña and Steve see the truck at the same time he does. There’s a split second of silence, but then he jerks his gun in the truck’s direction and pulls the trigger before you can yell “ _No!_ ”. At the same time, Peña shouts something you can’t make out, and you’re about to move when you feel the force of his large hand shoving you and Steve face-first behind a car for cover. Your arms brace the fall and you feel the vibrations from the explosion as you lie face-down on the ground. Following the sounds of shattering glass and debris, the street fills with blaring of car alarms and smoke.

You felt an impact on the way down, but now you’re not sure if it was because of your body hitting concrete, or the weight of Peña’s body on top of yours, shielding you. His free arm is over Steve and he quickly moves it off. He grips your arm with his hand, then releases it but keeps himself over you. The sharp ringing in your ears isn’t enough to distract you from the feeling of Peña’s chest against your back, pressing on you every time he breathes in and out.

All three of you stay on the ground for a few more moments before uncovering your faces and looking up to inspect the scene of complete chaos and destruction. Debris litters the ground and the dense smoke in the air burns your lungs. You know to always expect the unexpected, but this was definitely _not_ part of the plan. 

_The colonel’s going to lose his shit_. You shift your position, still aware of his weight on you. Peña starts to get up first, but keeps his arm over you just a second longer than necessary. You don’t know why but you feel a hint of warmth rush to your cheeks. With a shaky exhale, you push yourself up as well. _What the hell was that?_ you want to ask him. He offers no explanation or the slightest comment about the strange moment of contact, so you figure it’s just you, thinking too much as usual.

You sigh with relief when all of you are able to stand, seemingly unharmed. Peña looks relieved as well, looking around as you brush the dust off yourself.

“Anyone hurt? Or hit their head?” he asks, rubbing his shoulder. You and Steve each let out a huff of air and shake your heads as you all start to walk back towards the warehouse. No one has to say it, but you know you’re all in for some harsh words once you get back to the embassy.

~

The three of you sit in the ambassador’s office with Messina, and as predicted, they’re _pissed_. While you three were off chasing down those two _sicarios_ , the search bloc had managed to capture a couple of _sicarios_ back at the warehouse—alive. So while they’re off being questioned right now, you, Peña, and Steve are getting reprimanded for how indiscreet the mission was. You’ve been listening to their lecture for nearly twenty minutes and they’re only now slowing down. Not much has been said on your part; you’re fuming on the inside and trying to contain yourself. Your jaw is clenched and you’re bouncing your leg on the floor, waiting for it to be over. It won’t make a damn difference what any of you tell them; it never does.

“Ma’am, with all due respect, we have two high-tier _sicarios_ in our custody,” Peña comments with a wave of the hand, barely concealing the irritation in his voice. His other hand grips the arm of his chair, his knuckles white from the pressure.

“Agent Peña, this mission was supposed to be covert—in and out, is that not what the informant said? You were supposed to go in there quietly, not create a goddamn _war zone_ ,” the ambassador retorts.

“How were we supposed to know all of that would happen?” Steve clips. His frustration mirrors your own. You’re about to mutter something sarcastic when you notice Peña’s eyes shift down to the ground, then back up. He clenches his teeth and grinds his jaw. It’s a tic of his, when he’s up to something. You’re not sure what he has to do with any of this, but now’s not the time to bring it up.

After you get dismissed, you go back and sink into the chair at your desk, sighing with exasperation. Peña and Steve sit down at their own desks across from you, stowing their guns and badges away.

You quietly observe them as they pretend to skim some paperwork. Steve has some small bruises starting to form on his arms, and you’ve got a busted lip—but other than that, the three of you aren’t hurt. You shake your head at the irony—one small stakeout with Peña resulted in him being shot in the leg, yet a whole explosion happens and the most you get is a bloody lip and some scratches. Go figure. 

Your fingers twitch and can’t stay still, and you can’t figure out why. It’s been a few hours since the event, and a scolding from the higher-ups has never fazed you before. Your fight-or-flight response has calmed down now. But you almost feel _shaken_ by the incident, even though it was far from being your first encounter with danger. You didn’t do anything differently, and no one was hurt. But your mind can’t focus on anything else except those moments where you _might’ve_ been harmed today—that sicario was ready to shoot, and the aftermath of it all could’ve been a lot worse. Your mind flashes to Peña’s hand on your back, and you feel your face getting warm again. _Why the fuck are you thinking about this?_ You shake your head, immediately suppressing the thought.

As astute as you are, you don’t notice that Javier is observing you, too. He doesn’t miss the way you’re massaging your fingers again, something you haven’t done in a while—at least, not around him. You cross, then uncross them several times. He suddenly feels a pang of guilt; today must have affected you more than you’re letting on. He considers how this was yet another time he’s put you—and Murphy, of course—in harm’s way. His CI had greatly downplayed the amount of violence to expect, but his anger over this isn’t boiling quite as strongly as the nagging sensation of guilt that’s slowly making itself known again. He’s had worse problems with past intel, but for a reason unknown to him, this time it’s different. You might just be a coworker, but he can’t help but feel like he’s at fault for more than one thing today.

So when he watches you with your multiple nervous habits, he almost has to pull his eyes away. Steve picks up on your annoyance and says something to cheer you up, and a hint of a smile appears on your face. It’s not long before Javier’s attention is inadvertently drawn to the cut on your lower lip; it’s a bit swollen along the area. He purses his own lips and forces himself to finally look away. _It was just another day on the job. Why the hell does any of this bother him?_

You stand up suddenly, tossing the files onto the desk and breaking his chain of thought. “I’m going to go get a coffee,” you tell them, pushing your chair in. They both nod as you pull your drawer out to grab your things and leave for your break. You don’t notice the frown on Peña’s face as he watches you leave, either.

~

As you sip on the steaming beverage and walk on the quiet sidewalk towards the benches on the outskirts of the embassy, you’re hit with the feeling that today’s events are going to linger in your mind for longer than they should. You wish they wouldn’t—you’ve seen so much worse. You exhale and take a seat on the bench, rubbing your temples and taking another long sip from the cup. 

You weren’t stupid when you joined the DEA; you knew what you were signing up for. But you also knew what you had to give up, or at least you had to try to. You’ve worked here for too long to not know better. You don’t get close to people; you try not to, anyways. Even though Steve is a good friend, there’s a lot about you he doesn’t know; things you’ve never offered. Loss and suffering is all you’ve seen during your time here—it wouldn’t do you any good to get attached. _Does this have anything to do with Peña? No, of course not._ You try to brush your thoughts off, instead pondering what kind of shady dealings Peña’s been involved in. He knows more than he’s willing to tell, but you don’t know if you want to know any more than that. It’s not the first time he’s done questionable things, of that much you’re sure. Eventually, he’s going to get himself hurt if he keeps up the reckless behavior. _Why doesn’t he realize this, or care? And more importantly, why do_ you _?_

You start to massage your fingers, as though it’ll wash the thoughts of your life choices away.

But you’re never allowed any reprieve. As if on cue, Peña’s voice interrupts your thoughts. “You’re in my spot,” he says, approaching the bench.

You’re about to make a smart remark, but hold back when you turn and see the resigned expression in his eyes. Peña takes a seat beside you and leans back, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and offering you one. You shake your head as he lights one for himself. 

“This is my thinking place, too,” he comments when you don’t say anything. He follows your gaze to the street, full of loud cars and pedestrians out and about.

“I, um—Thank you. For today, with the _sicarios_ ,” you finally add after a few moments, turning to look at him. “I mean it.”

Javier meets your eyes, only breaking his gaze when he realizes you’re still rubbing your fingers. His mouth presses into a hard line and he doesn’t really know how to respond to your thanks, so he just nods. 

“You don’t need to thank me. Just…doing my job,” he says quietly, practically under his breath. _You were almost hurt again, and it would’ve been his fault._

“What is that job, Peña?” It’s a genuine question, and you don’t mean any harm by it. “I don’t know what you’re not telling us, but…you should be careful. If not for your own sake, then for ours.” 

He puts the cigarette to his lips and takes another draw before he answers. “I can take care of myself,” he states simply.

You scoff at that—not just because he’s stubborn but because you’ve told yourself the same thing many times. You’ve learned to fend for yourself here.

“Maybe,” you reply. “But there’s a lot more at stake than your own safety,” you tell him. He glances away then, but acknowledges the statement with another nod.

“Don’t worry. You’re not going to get in any trouble,” he adds quietly, and it’s not laced with the typical sarcasm you’re used to. 

“That’s not all I care about, you know.” If you sound a little defensive, you hope he can’t tell.

“Really, and what _do_ you care about, agent?” He smirks, exhaling a puff of cigarette smoke.

“The same things you do,” you answer curtly with a shrug. “Catching that asshole, staying alive while I do it.”

“That’s all?” he asks with feigned disbelief.

“I think you know it’s for the best,” you say. “It’s best not to be attached to anything, or anyone else,” you add before you can stop yourself. Your eyes widen at the admission and you turn away—you didn’t mean to say that out loud.

There’s no way Peña misses the change in your tone, but he seems to spare you and makes no other comment. You exhale deeply and stand up, tossing your cup in the bin.

“We better get back inside,” you say, deftly changing the subject. “Let’s not give them another reason to make our lives difficult.”

He chuckles. “And when they do?”

“I’ve told you before,” you reply, a slight grin on your face. “I’m used to dealing with assholes.”

~

Lately, you’ve been getting a flood of potential new leads coming in. Some of them come from the _sicarios_ that’d been captured days ago, but a lot of them seem to come out of nowhere. The phone’s been ringing more often than any of you have been used to recently, but more often than not the sources want to talk to an American; specifically, they ask for Peña. You and Steve occasionally question him about it, but he shrugs it off, reassuring you that these are all valid intel. 

The good thing about having so much new information is that the three of you are actually motivated to look into it, grateful for anything beyond the mindless busy work that’d become part of your routine. Falling into your prior routine from when Peña was working from home, you all bring the work home to his apartment almost every night. Each day seems to run into the next as you work tirelessly, plotting and digging to move forward. Late nights turn into even later nights, but you all seem to be running on fumes anyways.

You can’t help but feel like the dynamic between you and your partners is different now, too. Something seems to have shifted after your short conversation with Peña that day at the embassy, but you can’t put your finger on what it is. 

Steve catches on to something being off, too. One night when you’re all poring over one of the leads, Javier makes some darkly-humored remark about something and you let out a chuckle but make no other comment, continuing to focus on your work. Steve looks back and forth between you two with a wrinkle in his brow, racking his brain. He’s been used to being the middle-man, constantly mediating the hostility that was often present whenever you two worked together. The friendly banter—if that’s even what this is—is just a tad disorienting to him.

The three of you pass the liquor around; you have just enough to make you forget the exhaustion of another long day. Hours blend together and you continue to power through, but sometimes your minds give out for the night before you can make it home.

When Javier looks up and realizes you’re both out cold for the night, he sits up and stretches, getting up to head to bed himself. He’s mildly envious that you’re able to succumb to exhaustion so easily, because he knows it won’t be easy for him. But then again, it’s probably not much easier for either of you—sometimes you’re simply lucky enough to have a night where the baggage of the job is strong enough to allow you to rest. Steve’s got his face on his knuckle with his mouth agape, and you’re nestled into the side of the couch with your arms crossed. A gentle smile crosses Javier’s face and he shakes his head. _His partners really are something else._

The smile fades quickly when that nagging feeling of guilt hits him again. Sure, he’s been keeping contact with his informants; it’s the only way your bosses will take things seriously. But he’ll be damned before he lets any of them put you or anyone besides himself in danger again.

He walks over and pulls the blanket that’s draped over the side of the couch, covering you with it before picking up the papers off the floor and stacking them neatly on the table. He brings the glass of whiskey with him to his room, not bothering to shut the door behind him. 

~

A car horn blares in the distance and Steve jolts awake, realizing he dozed off even with the dim lights still on; he figures it’s time to call it a night. He stands and shrugs on his jacket, smirking when he sees your sleeping form slouching over on the couch. He takes another swig of whiskey from his glass, briefly deciding whether he should tell you to go home, too. He glances towards you, then to the paperwork on the table, then to Javier’s room, and smirks again before deciding to leave you alone. He places the glass down with a clink, turning off the lamp as he makes his way home to Connie.

~

Javier wakes up abruptly, his body still and his eyes adjusting to the surroundings of his bedroom. He can barely put together what he saw, but his heart beats rapidly and he can feel his pulse in his face. He remembers an indistinct image of broken glass and fire, nothing else. He steadies his breathing, in and out, willing the pounding in his chest to stop. The nightmares visit him so often that he’s never surprised by them anymore, but he’d like to be able to sleep through just one fucking night.

He exhales heavily and shuts his eyes again, knowing damn well he’s not going back to sleep. It only lasts a moment; he opens them again and sits up on his bed, running his hands through his hair and down his face. He pushes the comforter off himself and puts his feet on the ground, leaning forward with his face in his hands. He tries harder to remember what it was about this time, but it’s already been erased from his memory, leaving only the aftereffects. _He’s so fucking tired_. Not just from the lack of sleep, but from everything that leads him to dark places even in slumber.

He sighs deeply again, then stands to get his drink from the top of his dresser. It’s almost empty, so he pours himself another glass. He can’t tell if he’s a little buzzed from the earlier glass, or if it’s just his mind being too loud.

~ 

Your eyes open slowly as you try to reorient yourself—you’re still on Peña’s couch. The old leather cushion squeaks as you sit up, yawning. The lights are all off, so the space is completely dark, save for the blue-hued night’s sky shining through the window. You can’t have been out for more than a few hours, but you rub the sleep from your eyes before pushing the blanket off yourself and immediately shiver when the cool AC air hits your skin. You’ve only been tired enough to fall asleep here a few times, but every time you’ve woken up with this blanket on you. You can’t help but feel a hint of warmth in your chest, but push the feeling away before you let yourself think too hard about it.

At any rate, you need to go back to your own flat, so you get up and blindly try to find your things in the dark. You dig around and find your keys before swinging the bag over your shoulder. You’re about to head to the door when you hear a quiet groan and some shuffling coming from Peña’s room. You purse your lips, unsure if you should ignore it. But when you hear the clinks of glass and sounds of liquor being poured, you hesitantly remove your bag and gently place it back on the floor.

You’re afraid of breaking some unspoken boundary as you quietly walk towards his room. _Coworkers—partners—watch each other’s backs, don’t they? This is normal._

His door is wide open, so you tell yourself you’re not barging in. Standing just outside the door, you nervously peer inside. You expect him to be under the covers, but instead find him sitting on the edge of his bed facing away from the door, his head in one hand, his free hand nursing a glass. _If you leave now, he won’t notice_. But you suddenly remember his protective hold over you and Steve during the incident. Before you can change your mind, you knock lightly on the door frame. You don’t know what troubles him, but if it’s anything like your own demons, he shouldn’t have to be alone. 

“Peña?” you whisper, so quietly that you’re not even sure he can tell you’re there. 

He makes no response, but sits up straighter and rubs his face, so you know he heard you. 

“Are you…okay?” you ask with a meek voice, waiting for him to answer with sarcasm, or anger, or…anything. Honestly, you expect him to ask you to leave, and at another time you might have gladly done so. But now you’re not so sure.

“Yeah, great,” he mutters, but his voice cracks at the end of it. You swallow dryly, not knowing what you should do. But he doesn’t tell you to leave, so you rock on your feet for a few seconds as you wait for him to add anything else. When he doesn’t, a feeling of courage overcomes you and you take a step into his room, joining him in the darkness. Your breath hitches because while you don’t know what this is, you know that there’s no going back from it.

You walk towards his dark silhouette—your pulse is racing and you have no idea why—until you’re standing in front of him, your knees almost touching his. He barely lifts his head, not meeting your eyes. _If he wanted you to go, he would’ve told you so already._

Your hands want to fidget, so you slowly reach out and gently take the glass out of his hand, setting it down on the nightstand beside him. He rubs his hands together hesitantly, looking up at you for a moment before turning away, unable to match your gaze for long. Your arms are at your side, your brows furrowed as you ponder what to do. You don’t ask for an explanation because there’s none needed. If only to distract yourself from the biting tension in the air, you reach out again, timidly brushing your fingers along his bare shoulder. You’re pretty sure your fingers are shaking, but when he doesn’t pull away you place your whole palm on his skin, running it down his upper arm in hopes of comforting him. You feel his muscles tense and then quickly relax, so you start to pull away—abruptly, he stops you by taking your hand and giving it a light squeeze with his calloused fingers, taking you by surprise; he quickly retracts as if he didn’t mean to do it. He still avoids your gaze, looking straight ahead at the wall behind you. You’re never this brazen unless you’re in the field, but you don’t want to leave him alone now. 

You lift your hand again, this time moving to softly run your fingers along his thick hair, smoothing it behind his ear. You swear you hear him inhale, and he seems to relax against the movement. You run the palm of your other hand along the smoothness of his back, then gently pull him in towards you. He doesn’t move his arms, but he almost instantly leans into you, his head pressing against your stomach. You wrap your other arm around him, and while he doesn’t do the same, he relaxes completely against you. Minutes pass but you don’t move, keeping your hold around him as you listen to him breathe in and out, occasionally lightly stroking the back of his head. The noises of the Colombian streets at night quietly fill the background, but all you can focus on is him. His skin is warm against yours and you almost feel comforted yourself, despite your best attempts to ignore the feeling. The heaviness of your tired eyes is long gone now.

You’re not sure how much longer it’s been when you suddenly feel him tense under your arms again. He gently pulls away as you let go. He finally looks up and meets your eyes, raising a hand towards your face. The tips of his fingers barely graze the skin on your cheeks and suddenly your heart rate picks up again; just as quickly, he removes his hand. You don’t even have time to let go of the breath you realize you’re holding. You take an inch of a step backwards, steadying yourself and tugging on the hem of your shirt. 

“I…should go,“ you whisper. Your voice falters and you hope it doesn’t betray you.

A beat passes. “Yeah, you should,” he agrees, but his voice is gentle.

You linger for a moment, then slowly turn and walk away, leaving his bedroom door open like you found it. You keep your steps quiet as you pick up your bag again and walk through the front door. Once you’re out in the hallway, you pause and take a deep breath, shaking off whatever feeling has suddenly taken over the emptiness in your chest.


	5. Four

Javier pushes the thin blanket off of himself, leaning over to light a cigarette. He shuts his eyes, taking a long drag before exhaling. He wants to forget a lot of things, but for the past two days it’s seemed like no amount of alcohol could drown out the thoughts of  _ you _ . 

It shouldn't be like this. He shakes his head and rubs his face. You shouldn’t be there, taking up residence in his mind; the same way you shouldn’t have been in his room, so close to him that night. But there’s a thought that lingers in the crevices of his mind, whether or not he’s willing to admit it out loud. Maybe he  _ had  _ wanted you to stay that night. Asking you to do so would’ve pushed you both past an invisible line, one he doesn’t want you to cross—certainly not for him. He’s made his fair share of bad decisions that have gotten people hurt, and asking you to stay would’ve been another. Whatever it was that overcame him, it can’t and won’t happen again. The man you held that night isn’t someone who deserves to be comforted. He brushes off the nagging emotion—the one that’s wrapped him up and filled him with warmth for the entirety of the last forty-eight hours. He doesn’t deserve to be that man, the one who finds refuge in another. He tries to go back to a state of numbness, where he belongs.

The gentle hand that touches his shoulder almost makes him jump. “You’re thinking very loudly,” she muses. 

He turns to the woman. Her hair is messy, the long waves falling softly over her bare shoulders. She meets his eyes, smiling at him before sitting up and placing her other hand on his shoulder and massaging it. 

He wants this to be enough—the sensation of her warm skin on his, the feeling of release. He's not sure if it was ever enough. But when he loses himself in her arms, he doesn’t feel as safe as he did in yours that night.  _ What the fuck has gotten into me? _

He doesn’t answer, instead pouring himself another glass of whiskey and sighing when the bottle runs empty. 

“It’s work, isn’t it?” she asks, curiously. 

“No,” he replies simply, turning away.  _ I can’t even escape there _ . 

She smiles softly again, lightly caressing his face before getting out of bed to put her clothes back on.

He doesn’t meet her eyes but knows she’s watching him. “Is there anything I can do?” she asks, her tone teasing.

He puts the cigarette back to his lips, shaking his head. She slips her shoes on, taking her purse before leaving when he calls to her.

“Lina,” he murmurs. She turns to him.

Despite himself, his mind plays with the idea of being with someone for longer than just a night or two. He holds her gaze for a few moments, then looks away. “Nothing,” he finally whispers.

~

You’re sitting at your desk with your chin resting on your knuckle. It’s early so no one else is here yet, leaving you alone with your relentless thoughts. There’s plenty to do, but too many things have been keeping you up so you’re even more exhausted than usual. So much so that you don’t realize you’re dozing off until Steve sets his things down on his desk loudly, startling you.

He looks you in the eyes, giving you a tiny smirk. “Long weekend?” he asks, and you reply with only a groan, pinching the bridge of your nose.

He grins. “Maybe we can all get drinks later or—” he starts, but stops when you suddenly drop your head and turn your attention back to the files in front of you.

He’s about to ask what the problem is when Javier comes up from behind him, setting his cup of coffee down. Javier acknowledges him with a nod but says nothing to you, pulling out his chair and sitting down, refusing to look at you. Steve watches the two of you, confused by the awkward silence. He raises his brows and shrugs, because  _ what's new?  _ He lets out a huff of air, slumping down in his own chair and getting to work.

You try to quell the unwelcome flushing of warmth in your face as you think back to that night. It took you most of the weekend to admit to yourself that you just  _ might _ have felt something shift in yourself after those events. As much as it frustrates you, you can't get the image of Peña—his warm skin against yours, the static of his fingers brushing against your cheek—out of your head. You've tried to convince yourself it was just pity that took you in there, but it might be more than that—and that scares you. Whatever you’re feeling right now, it needs to stop. This isn’t what you’re here for, and there are a multitude of other things to worry about—things that don’t involve other DEA agents and your feelings for them. About _ them _ ,  _ not  _ for _ them _ , you remind yourself.  _ So why can’t you even look him in the eyes? _

It was  _ your _ decision to go into his room that night. It was a conscious choice, and you don’t regret it. You know how the long nights can wreak havoc on a person’s mind when they’ve seen the same things you have—if you’re able to support someone through it, you’ll do it every time. But that’s all this is, and it’s all it can be—he’s your partner, just like Steve is. You refuse to get attached, not when you live a life surrounded by danger; and especially not when Peña seems to throw himself in that path more often than everyone else. There’s already enough rules being broken around here, you may as well try to follow your own. 

You cast a sideways glance at him. He’s absent-mindedly working on the files at hand, resting his fingers against his temple and seemingly unaffected by your presence. You shouldn’t care, but you still wonder if it’s just you overanalyzing again—the thought that he’s unfazed bothers you, for a reason you can’t comprehend. Forcing yourself to look away, you decide that if Peña doesn’t care, then you don’t have to either.

~

Javier taps his fingers impatiently on the desk, waiting for an excuse to dip out—to anywhere. He gets the feeling you would love to do the same, although you’re usually better at staying composed than he is. But he watches your fingers play with the same loose button on your cardigan, and he almost wishes he had an excuse to offer you for that night.  _ What is there to even say? _

His attention is pried away from you when Trujillo marches over, whispering something about a phone call for him. Javier feels your concerned eyes on him as he walks away from his desk, and he feels even more guilty for not saying a word to you all day. You don't deserve to be ignored like this. But surely the silence is better than all the bickering that constantly made his blood pressure rise. He’s hardly paying attention to whatever Trujillo’s telling him now, shaking his head before picking up the phone.

~

Javier slings his leather jacket over his shoulder, walking towards his Jeep. He doesn’t ever tell himself he’s a good man—nor has he claimed to be one.  _ Sometimes you have to do bad things to catch bad people _ . This thought repeats itself in his head as he starts the car, preparing to drive to meet this informant. Heat waves radiate off the concrete roads as he drives towards his destination. He’s worked with the man before, but only on more... _ official  _ arrangements. Whatever he has to offer this time, there’s no doubt it’s going to be under-the-table, since it was made explicitly clear that Javier should come alone and with discretion. 

Everything he's done has been done with a single goal in mind—get Escobar. Time and time again, one wrong decision ends up with people being dead, or damaged beyond repair. The lines under his eyes and the heaviness that permanently lives in his chest are further proof that he needs to leave other people out of his decisions, if at all possible. He learned a long time ago that once you get into bed with monsters, you’re forced to live with them alone.

Somehow, this drags his thoughts back over to you. He could've stopped you from coming in that night — _ should've shut the damn door _ . It would’ve been easy—a simple  _ “just go” _ and you wouldn’t have hesitated to leave. Javier swallows thickly when he realizes that maybe he left it open for a reason. He remembers his conversation with you on the bench, the day of the explosion.  _ “It’s best not to be attached to anything, or anyone,”  _ you’d said. He’d pretended not to notice when you let that slip, but if anything, it’s the one thing you both have in common. He knows better than to let himself get too close to anyone. But his mind keeps taking him back to the gentle look in your eyes before you wrapped your arms around him. To how, for once, he felt like he was being enveloped in something other than darkness. To the way he felt his fears and anxieties from that nightmare flee his body, if only for a short while. Because of you.  _ Fuck _ . He hasn't known peace, not in a long time. He doesn't want to find it in another person. 

He grips the steering wheel a little tighter, turning his focus back onto the road. Familiar buildings pass by as he makes his way to the same convenient spot in a quieter part of town, a place he knows well. He can almost hear the comments you and Steve would have if you knew about this. But  _ someone  _ has to do what no one else will.

He sighs loudly. Javier knows he doesn't deserve to feel the sense of comfort that he did in your arms, but maybe...he wants to.

~

Upon Steve’s insistence, you all end up at a local bar after work, along with Connie. After a couple of rounds, Steve takes Connie’s hand and leads her to the center of the floor for a half-drunken slow dance, leaving you alone with Peña. It’s been another long day, and with neither of you having much to say, you stay quietly seated at the bar next to each other. Some upbeat music blares in the background, but it’s not loud enough to drown out your thoughts. Peña doesn’t seem to mind the ambiance, though. His posture’s relaxed as he watches Steve and Connie haphazardly holding onto each other on the other side of the bar. They laugh a lot, and you’re happy that Steve’s able to enjoy a moment of peace.

You’re not drunk yourself, but the alcohol makes you brave. Things will never go back to normal at work if you don’t address the elephant in the room, and you can’t take the silence anymore—not here, or at work. There’s been enough tension with the bosses lately, and that alone is enough to exhaust you.

You don’t really know how to bring up that night. “Peña, I’m—” you mumble. You start to busy yourself by playing with the strap on your purse.

“Look, we don’t have to do this,” he quickly interrupts with a wave of his hand, but his tone is gentle. You wrinkle your brows, peering at him and biting your lip. He’s still holding his glass, taking a drag on his cigarette before meeting your eyes, as if he’s contemplating what to say himself.

“I’m...sorry. For the other night,” he says quietly. “It won’t happen again. We don’t have to talk about it.” 

Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t this. You blink a few times and purse your lips, unsure of how to respond. “You don’t have to apologize for anything. I...get them, too. The bad dreams...” you start to ramble, massaging your fingers.

“That’s not what—” he stops and sighs. “I had too much to drink,” he mutters. 

_ Is he serious? _ You scoff with disbelief, meeting his eyes as you take a sip of your drink. “ _ Too much to drink? _ Peña, you drink like it’s your  _ job _ , those few glasses you had were hardly anything.” 

“I said we don’t need to talk about it,” he insists. He turns away and gestures for the bartender, asking for another glass.  _ Why is he being like this? _ For fuck’s sake, you don’t expect him to pour his feelings out, but his stubbornness makes you want to scream sometimes.

“I just wanted to help,” you say, raising a hand in resignation. “I know I shouldn’t have...but you don't have to be alone,” you add quietly.

_ I don’t need any help with being alone. “ _ I’m telling you it was nothing,” he reiterates, but his tone betrays his unease. He looks at you again and his eyes are almost pleading. “Please,” he whispers. 

You want to believe him, believe that it means nothing so you can stop thinking about it—if this is what he wants, you’ll oblige. But it hurts a little all the same. You had thought he would be more open about what happened, because things definitely  _ feel _ different now and you haven't the slightest clue what you're supposed to do about it—or if you should do anything at all, especially considering you'd only recently become more civil with each other. You exhale quietly and drop the subject. The loud bar music is the only thing saving you from a biting silence as you both down your drinks. 

Javier slips off the bar stool when his phone starts to buzz. He could use the break right now, so he gladly takes the call, moving over to an empty corner of the bar to answer it.

“I’m glad you decided to answer,” the deep voice bellows.

“I told you not to call after hours,” Javier states firmly. “If we do this, we do it my way. You play by my rules, and that's one of them.”

“And I told you we have a common goal,” the man says. Javier stuffs his hand in his pocket, casually checking around him to make sure no one’s watching.

“Then why the hell are you calling me now?” He rubs his jaw with annoyance. “I thought the plan was settled.” 

“There’s been a slight change of plans. We need another person—one to infiltrate the party. Someone those bastards won’t be suspicious of.” With the phone to his ear, Javier watches Steve and Connie from across the room. His eyes soften just a little when Steve whispers something into her ear, making her smile. It passes quickly when he turns his attention back to the call.

Javier runs a hand through his hair, clenching his jaw. “Too bad. You’ve got me.”

“No, Agent Peña. If we don’t get someone off-the-radar in there, this won’t work.”

He glances over at you, sitting on the bar stool. You’re slouched over, nursing your drink and shaking your head when the bartender asks if you want another. He bites his lower lip. “Yeah, well, you’re not getting my other partner in on this,” Javier contends. 

“Come on, Peña. You know plenty of people—I’m sure you can find one who’s willing to help, for the right price.”

Javier frowns, momentarily reconsidering his decision to work with this asshole. He looks at you again, and then Steve, then to his shoes on the grimy tile floor.

“Yeah. I know someone,” he mutters, ending the call with a  _ click _ .

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. Five

The news blares on high volume as soon as Javier turns the TV on. The reporter recounts the events of the last several hours, as if branding a harsh reminder into his head. _Several killed, many injured in ambush - Escobar likely suspect. Among dead: one officer and unidentified bystander._ He takes the cigarette out of his mouth only so he can throw down another glass of whatever liquor was at the front of the cabinet when he got home. His head throbs, but it’s not from the alcohol—he’d rather be numb, though that’s not a reprieve he deserves to feel. He barely remembers to blink as he stares at the screen, the events of the night a blur that’s smeared across his memory.

~

_After the phone call with the informant at the bar, Javier offers to drive you home while Steve and Connie stay behind for a bit longer. The ride home is short and quiet with neither of you wanting to bring up the conversation from earlier_ — _the only sounds are those of gravel meeting the car’s tires as he pulls up to the apartment complex. He walks you to your flat next door, much to your confusion, then pauses before asking to talk to you inside. You wrinkle your brows at him, but nod after a moment, unlocking the door. The door creaks more loudly than usual as you step aside for him to come in after you, then shut it quietly behind him. He follows as you walk to the living room, setting down your keys and bag before turning to him, rubbing one of your arms nervously_ — _he feels a bit of anxiety himself. Apprehensively, he meets your timid gaze, and the room is somehow more silent than it is when empty._

_“What is it?” you ask, hesitantly. You have this wistful look in your eyes that he knows will tug on his conscience later._

_For a moment it seems as though you expect him to bring up the conversation from earlier at the bar. But his mind couldn’t be further away—in fact_ , _he’s trying_ not _to think of it. Right now, he’s just trying to think of how to ask for your help—and_ _trying not to let it bother him that he needs it at all._

_“You once told me you were tired of no one getting things done. Right?” he starts. His tone is calm, but you still look at him dubiously and he knows this isn’t going to be easy._

_“Yes...what does that_ — _” you begin to ask._

_“I need your help with a mission.”_

_“Okay? That’s kind of our job?” you ask again, putting your hands in your pockets and shrugging._

_“A_ discreet _mission,” he emphasizes, raising a brow._

_The lightbulb seems to turn on for you and you shake your head, crossing your arms. “Oh, no, Peña, you’re not pulling me into another one of your back-alley schemes,” you quip, raising your voice just a little._

_“Look, just hear me out,” he pleads, stepping closer to you. You shake your head again._

_“You don’t need to do anything illegal,” he reassures you. “But I need someone else with us who’s on our side, a second pair of eyes.”_

_“Who is ‘_ us’ _? And why me, not Steve?” you ask, standing up straighter._

_“Murphy’s gotten into too much trouble already_ — _he’s one fuck-up away from being sent back to the states as it is. The ambassador’s going to have his ass if he gets involved in anything else.”_

_“So you want_ me _to get in trouble?”_

_“No, you’re not going to get in_ —” _Javier sighs with exasperation, putting a hand on his hip. “You’re not going to get in trouble. Murphy will stay back and verify things at headquarters. It’ll be fine, just trust me.”_

_“Who is ‘_ us’ _?” you ask again. Your tone is impatient, Javier notes while unclenching his jaw and trying not to scowl._

_“I’m going to have one of my...informants be a fly on the wall. We have confirmed intel on where Escobar’s going to be next week. The cartel’s having some sort of meeting at a hotel.”_

_“What kind of informant is willing to go in there with those assholes? How do you know him?”_

_“_ Her _name is Lina. And she’ll do it. She has her reasons for helping us.”_

_“‘Her’? How do you know her?” You look at him curiously, but he doesn’t answer_ — _it shouldn’t take you long to figure it out._

_The look on his face tells you what you don’t need to ask, and you let out a huff._

_“You want to use a_ civilian _as a spy? She’s not an agent, she has no protection. Why would she want to do this?” you ask incredulously._

_“Just leave that to me,” he asserts._

_“Peña_ , _that’s never going to work. It’s a terrible idea, one that’s going to get someone hurt.”_

_“I thought you were tired of how they’ve been running things?” he chides. “Here’s your chance to get some real intel.”_

_“And the person who just_ gave _you all of this information. We’re supposed to just trust them?”_

_“I’m already having Trujillo run some checks with Centra Spike. We’ll be golden.”_

_Javier sees your frown and feels mildly guilty for asking you. But he wouldn’t ask if he didn’t need to_ — _and he needs to. Another beat passes and you sigh heavily, looking at him intently_ — _he knows that look well, and he can’t help but grin. You shake your head again and glower at him, but he doesn’t miss the tiny smirk that plays on your lips soon after._

~

You knock on the door to Steve’s apartment upstairs, rocking on your shoes as you wait for him to answer. When he does, you see that the anguished look in his eyes mirrors your own. He and Peña had left the scene well before you did, since you were in charge of the debriefing this time. Truthfully, you’re surprised they both headed straight home instead of to the bar. Steve doesn’t offer any words as he takes the classified papers you’re holding out of your hands. He doesn’t smile as he reaches out and gives your upper arm a squeeze. 

“How is he?” you ask quietly, looking down at the ground. Steve runs a hand over his face, letting out an exhale.

“You...should go talk to him. He’ll listen to you,” he says, softly.

You purse your lips, knowing there’s nothing you can say and comprehending Steve’s actual meaning. _He needs you_ . You blink a few times, trying to steady your breathing before you nod. _He shouldn’t need you._ You tell him good night and slowly turn back to the stairwell once he shuts the door, taking one step at a time back down to the first floor.

~

_Over several days, you both come to a silent mutual agreement to not bring up that night in his room again. It seems to be better this way for the most part, since you can ignore it and focus on your work—that’s what really matters, anyways. For now, the pressing matter at hand is the less-than-ideal undercover mission he’s convinced you to get in on. You’re not happy about it, but if you don’t take the part he’ll do it alone anyways, and you know how well_ that _usually works out._

_And so your usual routine falls back into play. The details of the mission are quickly worked out. It’s simple enough—you’ll escort Lina into the hotel, serving as protection, while she attempts to infiltrate the cartel’s group meeting to gain some intel from the men. Two women casually coming and going from their hotel room is innocent enough not to raise any alarm. A small group of officers will be stationed inside beforehand in case there’s any trouble. Peña, who’s already familiar to the narcos due to his prior shady engagements, will stay concealed outside and monitor the perimeter._

_The night before the mission you go over to his apartment to run over some final details. You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor jotting something down on your notepad when you hear a knock at the door. Both of you look up from what you’re doing, and he gets up to go answer it._

_“Is Steve coming over, too?” you ask, looking at the time. It’s late, and Steve never comes over at this hour._

_“No, I’m hungry,” he replies. “Aren’t you?”_

_He opens the door before you get the chance to answer, and you’re met with the sight of a man holding out a large bag of food. Peña hands the man some bills and thanks him, taking the bag and shutting the door._

_“I thought we could use some fuel before tomorrow,” he remarks casually, setting the bag down on the coffee table. Whatever it is, it smells delicious and you have to admit your stomach_ has _been growling quietly. He pulls everything out of the bag, handing you one of the containers. You take it from him, also using the break as an opportunity to stretch out your aching back._

_“Thank you,” you say quietly, a tiny smile forming on your lips. He simply nods, sitting down across from you with his own portion and digging in._

_“This place is a favorite of mine,” you comment after swallowing the first bite._

_“I know. You told us during one of our late nights,” he answers, holding your slightly widened gaze a second longer than necessary. You don’t have anything to say to that, immediately suppressing the warmth that's rushing into your face. You almost allow yourself to feel flattered that he would remember some minute detail like that, but quickly dismiss the thought. You’ve been working together for long enough that he’s bound to have caught on to your preferences._

_As you finish your late-night snack, you find yourselves putting the business of the mission behind for just a while. Instead, you both delve into some light stories about your past lives, the ones you lived back in the states. You tell him that sometimes your old life feels like a fever dream. Things were different then—with the things you’ve seen here, you’ve lost a bit of yourself. You know he’s no stranger to that feeling, either. There was a time where you could sleep without the weight of the world pressing down on you—where facing the days alone wasn’t all that unbearable. Oddly enough, you don’t feel that alone now_ — _not completely, anyway._

_He must notice you’ve drifted off in your mind for a bit, making some remark to pull you back to reality. You mention a passing thought about how you’re not the same person you once were._

_“I was a good man, back then. I think I was, at least,” he murmurs, out of the blue. It sounds as if he’s thinking out loud rather than telling it to you. He stares at his hands for a moment before locking eyes with you. You hold his gaze, pulling your knees up to your stomach and observing him quietly._

_“You’re a good man_ now _, Peña,_ ” _you tell him. The words come out of your mouth without warning, but you’re more surprised that they came so easily. The expression on his face is inscrutable as he ponders on what you said. He leans forward to put the empty container of food down, then crosses his hands together. His eyes are soft, but the way he scoffs quietly tells you he doesn’t believe you._

_“Albeit a petulant, stubborn man,” you playfully add, getting a chuckle from him. He changes the subject, asking you something else about your old life and rambling about some more stories of his own. You laugh genuinely at some joke he makes about the higher ups at the embassy, and for the first time in a while you feel like the air is a little bit lighter between you._

~

There’s something about the way your eyes light up when you talk about the things you love—something that, in a different life, he would’ve taken every chance to see more often. It’s such a stark contrast from the look on your face whenever you’re determined to change his mind, much like you had when you’d warned him about this mission. _I should’ve fucking listened_. He has no one else to blame except himself, though he knows you and Murphy will try to tell him otherwise. Javier thinks of the irony of it—the one time you tell him he’s a good man, and he’s never been further from being one. He’s never cared what you thought of him before, but he does now. He downs some more liquor, simultaneously finding comfort and torment in his thoughts of you.

~

_Static noise comes from the walkie talkie._

_Something’s wrong. One of the soldiers had been detailing his surroundings when he suddenly got cut off mid-sentence. That’s the first thing that makes Javier's stomach turn on itself as he hisses into the walkie a second time. Trujillo’s driving_ — _speeding_ — _down the street to the hotel as Javier swears under his breath, leaning forward in the passenger seat as if it’ll get him there any faster._

_“Garcia!” he yells, waiting for an answer. “Martinez!” He swears again, louder, when there’s still no response. His adrenaline kicked in a while ago, but now the feeling of sheer panic suddenly floods his entire body, filling every vein. His voice falters when he calls your name, knowing it’s for nothing—you had gone in with Lina, armed but with no means of communication. The narcos posted on guard at the front of the hotel meant you could have only a gun hidden in its holster under your dress._

_“Agent Peña—” one of the men finally answers, and Javier immediately straightens._

_“Escobar...he planned…” The blood leaves Javier’s face as he hears the words._ This was a setup _._

_The car screeches to an abrupt stop outside the hotel as Javier calls for the other soldiers again. Trujillo hastily calls Murphy to bring in backup._

_“_ What _is going on in there?” Javier yells._

_“Man down...agent...she’s...they—” there’s screaming in the background and static continues to deform the man’s words._

_“She’s_ what _, Garcia? Where are they? Get out of there, now!” Javier shouts, but is met with silence again._

The TV reporter moves on to some other story, but Javier doesn't hear a single thing she's saying. He barely has the energy to hear his own thoughts, let alone some outsider's rendition of the latest tragedy. He puts out his cigarette in the ashtray, running his hand over his face. Over the course of the last few hours, he’s had every emotion run through him. Guilt, as he remembers the look on their faces when they covered the bodies and rolled the gurneys away. He’s not sure he’ll ever unsee it. Fear, a different kind of fear he’s not familiar with, when he thinks of you.

You weren’t in the range of fire, you’d told him once you were out. You had sensed something was off and went in to find Lina, pulling her out with you when the shots started to ring out. But it was too late—the narcos had hit her. The soldiers had to pull you off her, urging you to get outside to safety. They’d alerted the men outside with Javier that you were coming so they wouldn’t fire.

Javier’s never known a sensation of relief as strong as the one he felt when he saw your figure exit the building.

_“What the_ hell _happened?” You ask with horror in your eyes as you run over to Javier on the street outside. You must be flustered, not hearing him when he asks if you’re okay. You’re panting and out of breath, not knowing that he’s finally breathing again, too._

_Javier resists the urge to put a hand on your shoulder as he asks you again. “Are you alright?”_

_“Yeah,” you answer with an exhale. “Don’t worry about me now.” He keeps his eyes on you a little longer, subtly looking you up and down to make sure you’re actually unharmed._

_Once he’s certain you’re safe, Javier glances over at the paramedics rolling people towards the ambulances, the tension returning to his body. Murphy walks over to the two of you, head hanging low. He doesn’t look at either of you, just briefly runs some information by you._

_Javier’s shoulders drop as he runs a hand through his hair, going over to the paramedic. He doesn’t need to look back to know you and Murphy are watching him with concerned, pitying looks on your faces. The paramedic’s about to cover the body when he gently stops her with his hand. He looks at Lina, her eyes closed as though she’s asleep. He whispers the apology she’ll never hear, silently lingering there for a long moment before nodding at the paramedic and walking away._

_He goes back over to you and Murphy, who merely places a hand on Javier’s arm._

_“Don’t,” Javier mutters, shrugging it off. “Just...don’t.” He walks back to the car and Murphy follows. He gets back into the passenger seat, slamming the door as Murphy starts the car and drives off in the too-quiet night. He knows you're alright, or else he wouldn't have left you on your own. But as he watches your figure get smaller in the car's side view mirror, he feels a smoldering sensation of regret in the pit of his stomach, one he knows won't leave him any sooner than his guilt about tonight._

~

You still have his key _—_ you never got around to giving it back _—_ so you let yourself in after a few light knocks that you know he won't answer. It’s dark in his apartment save for a dim lamp, but you can see the flickering lights of the TV casting a glow from his bedroom. You approach his door, and it feels a little easier than it did the first time despite the somber atmosphere that weighs down on you both. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the screen with glazed eyes. Your footsteps are light as you cross the room toward him, as though you might break something if you make even a single sound. His bed sinks with your movement as you quietly sit down next to him, picking up the remote from the nightstand. You switch off the TV, shunning the news reporter into silence. He still makes no movement as you shift to face him, the mattress creaking in response.

He doesn’t meet your eyes, keeping his gaze straight ahead. You wonder if he’s miles away in his head. The incandescent yellow light from the lamp casts dark shadows on the features of his face, but you know his heavy undereyes are similar to your own.

“We’re with you, you know,” you say softly, breaking the unbearable silence. “We’re not going anywhere.”

He doesn’t respond, but you don’t expect him to.

He raises his head to look at you now. His jaw is tense and his eyes carry a pain you wish you could hold for him, even for just a while. He doesn’t say anything but the way he’s looking at you is almost intense enough to make you avert your eyes. You’re suddenly very aware that you’re inches away from him. Months ago, you would’ve said this was far too close. But now you find him subconsciously leaning into you ever so slightly, and you don’t have the strength or desire to move away. For a millisecond you catch him glancing down at your lips, then back to your eyes. It feels like an eternity later when he lifts his hand and moves it to your face, not quite touching you yet. His fingers hover with uncertainty over your skin, but it’s close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his hand. He keeps his gaze on you, his eyes soft as he swallows dryly. You think you have an idea of what this is _—_ he needs a distraction, one he's always found through physical contact, one you can give him. But this feels different, like there's something else there that neither of you will say out loud. You bite the inside of your cheek when you realize that you just might want it, too. You’re so focused on quieting your own heart rate that it startles you when his fingertips briskly touch your skin and brush along your jaw. He traces his thumb gently over the curve of your cheek, and you swear his fingers are trembling. Slowly, he traces his fingers back up your jawline and sweeps a few strands of your hair behind your ear. Then he breaks eye contact at the same time his fingers leave your skin, and it’s so unexpected that you silently inhale a breath of air you didn’t know you needed. No longer meeting your gaze, he lowers his hand and gently places his fingers under your chin, tilting your face up to him. His mouth is slightly parted as he glances at your lips again. He runs his thumb delicately along your lower lip, and the sensation of his gentle touch feels like static electricity. You’re watching him quietly, observing all the shadowed features of his face that you’ve never noticed before—the crinkles around his eyes, the curve of his jaw. He cups your face with his hand as he leans in a centimeter closer, and you nearly feel your heart jump out of your chest. You look down at his lips and start to lean in yourself, both of you waiting for a cue to fully close the distance. There’s a magnetic pull as his lips hover agonizingly close to yours.

But just like that, he drops his hand and you see the expression in his eyes change to one of remorse. You turn away as he pulls back, and your face grows warm. You straighten your posture; your mind’s still catching up to what just happened. _Maybe it really is for the best._ Neither of you are able to find the right words to say. Only seconds pass but you decide you should leave now, that this won't happen again. You couldn't bear it, not a second time.

He doesn't meet your eyes as you start to stand, and you give no explanation. But you only take one step before you feel his hand gently wrap around your arm, stopping you. 

Javier wants to let you go. There are few things either of you have control over, but this is one of them. He wants to stop whatever this is before it goes any further. But before he can even finish the thought to himself, he knows it's a lie. He doesn't know what overcomes him, but he says it anyways.

“No,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “Please, stay.”

He hates the way it sounds like a plea, hates the way you turn to look at him with hurt in your eyes. He knows that look, and you're the last person he wants to feel like he used. _God, he wanted to bring your lips to his, to forget everything and get lost in it all_. He already regrets not letting it happen, hates himself for having the nerve to ask you to stay despite this. But tonight, he doesn't want to be alone.

“I, um—” he stammers.

You exhale, but it's more to steady yourself than anything else. “Okay,” you interrupt him, nodding once. His hand slowly trails from your arm down to your hand, holding it gently. Subconsciously you've moved close to him again, standing just in front of his knees and looking down at him. “Okay,” you repeat even more softly. Your own voice quivers now and you’re afraid that if you say anything else, you’ll give yourself away. Whatever line you were afraid of crossing, it's long gone now. He looks as surprised by your answer as you do. 

You reach over, turning off the lamp on the nightstand and plunging the room into darkness. You want to tell him things will be okay, but he’s not a fool and neither are you. There’s little left to be said tonight, which is why you decide to stay. You have nothing to offer except your presence, the slight consolation that comes when you share your grief with someone. Some nights, the isolation and loneliness forms walls around you, leaving a space hollow enough to create echoes in your mind. On such nights, you know sharing the burden is better than carrying it alone. He scoots into the center of the bed, hesitantly taking your hand again and pulling you towards him. You tug your shoes off and slowly climb onto the bed, trying not to think about how his rough hand feels on your skin or the way your heart skips a beat. He moves over some more to make room for you then lies down on the pillow. You follow, lying down next to him, your head a little higher up than his. The sheets are cool and his body feels comforting against you, but you're still tense and it takes a few moments for both of you to start relaxing into each other. His fingers intertwine with yours for a moment before you pull them away, moving your hand to his face. Your fingers lightly graze along his jaw, then down along his arm. You can practically hear the gears turning in his head; the same bleak flashbacks are playing in your own mind.

A few quiet seconds go by when he tentatively places a hand over your waist, as if asking for your approval. When you don't pull away, he gradually moves his hand to your back, wrapping his whole arm over you. The warmth of his skin pressed against yours is calming, and you sense he feels the same. He pulls your body in closer to him, putting firm pressure over your waist. You drape your own arm over him, holding him tightly with your hand behind him. He holds onto a fistful of your shirt on your back, and you can feel him trying to distract himself from the remaining tension in his muscles. If he were any closer to you, he'd be nestled into your neck; truth be told, you wouldn’t mind. The sensation of his skin against yours suddenly sparks a reminder of everything you’ve been missing, and you’ve never felt more wholly at peace. 

Suddenly, his raspy voice fills the darkness.

“I didn't want this,” he whispers. There’s a lump in your throat as you try to force back your shared affliction that threatens to spill over.

“Of course you didn't,” you answer softly, running a light hand along the back of his head.

“I don’t—” he starts, but you stop him.

“Sleep, Javier.”

At the sound of his name coming from your lips, he tilts his head to look up at you. You've never called him by anything other than ‘Peña’ before; somehow the sound of his name coming from you is a stranger but also an old friend. He can’t see much of your eyes in the dark, but he tries to imagine the look on them now. He knows this isn’t the man you know him to be, but also knows you won’t hold it against him. He moves his hand away from your back, letting his fingers run across your collarbone and up your neck, then to your jaw. You’re almost certain he can feel your pulse pounding against his fingertips. Gingerly, you comb your fingers through his hair and his chest constricts with a feeling he’s been avoiding for too long. Javier's so used to wanting and getting _more_. But as strange as it is, this is enough. At least, just for tonight.

He reaches down and tugs the comforter over both of you, enveloping you in warmth and naively hoping it’s the only thing that swallows him whole tonight. In this brief moment, with you tucked into him and both of you covered by a blanket of warmth, he wouldn't mind if he _is_ swallowed whole.

He’s still facing you, listening to the sounds of your breathing and taking slow inhales to steady his own breaths. The pain of tonight continues to throb unwaveringly. But eventually his mind grows foggy, and slowly he’s lured off to sleep. The night isn’t as dark when he’s not alone.

~

You know it's still early when you open your eyes—the city is still asleep outside and there’s no hint of light peeking through the curtains. The first thing you become aware of is that you're still in yesterday's clothes; they're stiff and uncomfortable. The next thing you realize is that you've still got an arm wrapped over Javier’s torso. _Javier._ His name, even just in your mind, feels unfamiliar yet completely welcome. He'd turned away at some point—his back is pressed against the front of your body, and your knees are resting along the back of his legs. His body is completely relaxed, so you can tell he's still asleep. There's a lot of empty space behind you—all that room but you haven't moved from his side of the bed overnight. You're grateful he was able to sleep, even if only a little. Your cheek is resting on his shoulder; you can feel the rising and falling of his breaths matching the rhythm of your own. Warmth rushes to your face when you realize you'd slept like this all night. You'd dozed off sometime after him, and while it was an unrestful sleep, you somehow feel safer than you do most mornings.

He shifts his arm a bit, breaking you from your thoughts. Your arm is still draped over him and he unconsciously moves his own arm over yours, holding onto you gently. You have a fleeting concern about whether you should get up and go home to your own apartment. But Javier lets out a quiet exhale, which makes you inadvertently nuzzle your cheek even more into the back of his neck. You let yourself close your eyes; they're still heavy with sleep and you allow yourself to doze off again. Physically, and perhaps mentally, you can’t remember the last time you were this close to someone. Maybe—just maybe—this is better than home.

  
  



	7. Six

The air is cold against Javier’s back as he opens his eyes. He rubs the few hours of sleep from his eyes, shifting slightly to move the blanket off himself. He doesn’t need to move much to discover your missing presence—he was awake when you shifted quietly to get off the bed and go back to your apartment however long ago. The warmth of your arms leaving him was enough to make him a man with no self control. The space behind him is all too empty now, like something that's never been there before is now missing. You didn’t know—he’d made no indication to let you know he’d woken up. A man who deserves nothing is in no place to ask for everything. The feeling of someone leaving his bed before morning light is nothing new to him, but Javier swears he’s never wanted to ask someone to stay as much as he did when it was you. Whatever restraint he still has within himself, he used it to let you go.

~

You look into your small bathroom mirror, momentarily fidgeting with the hem on your newly-replaced top before buttoning the whole thing up. Your eyes look heavy but you don’t feel tired. You consciously inhale, then exhale, smoothing the fabric of your clothes out before stepping back out into the hall towards the kitchen. Somewhere on the other side of the wall, you note, Javier is getting ready for work, too. Rest is a privilege you seldom have, not even in the wake of destruction. Not for the first time, your mind flashes to the night before. The chaos, the aftermath. _Javier_. The defeated look in his dark eyes. You swallow the lump in your throat as you think of the betrayal and loss he must have felt, and still feels. Your own fingers start to twitch with anxiety as you recall the scene. But you’ve been in worse situations than that before, you realize, and the shaking of your hands may have more to do with the fact that you’re thinking of Javier at all—the warmth of his skin flush against your body, the way he felt like...home. 

Immediately shaking your head to rid yourself of the thoughts, you reach for a water bottle on the counter and down a few gulps. _You can’t do this. This can’t happen. Absolutely not. Not like this_. Closing your eyes, you exhale again. _But_ you _agreed to stay last night. You_ wanted _to stay_. You can tell yourself as much as you want that it was all for his sake, but it was just as much for your own peace. You’ve been carrying the weight of this job, of the things you’ve seen, on your own for so long. When you were with him last night, you allowed yourself to feel like maybe you don’t _have_ to be alone. You knew what you were doing, and even moreso, you’re aware of the feeling of your chest constricting whenever you think of him. _He almost kissed you, and you would’ve let him_. You can feel that bit of longing in your chest, imagining how it might be to let yourself feel more than that. But for now, that’s all this can be. A feeling. There’s nothing you can or will act on. You know Javier and his ways, and what can happen when you’re on the other end.

You sigh and put your work files into your bag, pulling out some loose papers you’d hastily shoved in yesterday after the debriefing. Quickly sorting through the papers, a page you hadn’t noticed before catches your eye. It looks like a short list of some addresses you don’t recognize, but the name scrawled across the top is one you won’t ever forget. _The informant_. The bastard that sent Javier along with you and the rest of your team into a trap. Tossing the other papers aside, you neatly fold up the page with the addresses and tuck it back into your bag. If anyone at the embassy has any sense today, they’ll act on this. You slip on your shoes and leave your apartment in a hurry. Despite your apprehension to face Javier after last night, your priority lies in catching Escobar by any means necessary.

~

You’d opted to sit in the back while Steve hopped into the front passenger seat. He keeps droning on about something Trujillo told him earlier, but your and Javier’s attention couldn't be further away at the moment. Steve pauses occasionally to skim the area whenever Javier turns onto another unfamiliar street. 

You were early to work and headed straight for the ambassador's office, where you insisted on doing a stakeout to find out exactly who this asshole worked for. For once, both the ambassador and the colonel agreed—the traumatic events from last night must've still been fresh in their minds. As soon as Steve and Javier got in, the three of you were dispatched with just one vehicle, which you weren’t particularly thrilled about. You haven't been alone with Javier since the two of you parted ways this morning, so not much besides a quick briefing of the plan has been discussed between you. You're not sure what there is to say right now anyways, but you're still professionals with a job to do.

After a while of being in the car, you can't help but cast a glance at Javier in the rear view mirror. His hair is mostly neat and his brows are furrowed as if he's deep in thought. Much to your embarrassment, he immediately notices you staring and meets your eyes through his amber-tinted shades, your pulse starting to pick up. He holds your gaze with a hard, unreadable expression for longer than he should while driving before finally turning his attention back to the road. 

~

“Well that’s just fuckin’ perfect,” Steve mutters as the three of you walk down the concrete sidewalk back to the car. 

After staying in the car for a long, uneventful period of time, you all had decided to get out and ask the locals in the area yourselves to see if they knew—that was fruitless, as well. There wasn’t much left to do anyways and you were giving them the other address you had when the ambassador called, beckoning you all back to the embassy.

Steve trails ahead of you and Javier. The afternoon sun’s starting to heat up the air even more as it beats down on your skin. You pull and untuck your shirt from your jeans, huffing in annoyance. _They probably just want you back at the office so you can do some more useless paperwork. There was a goddamn_ ambush _yesterday and you’re not allowed to do some more digging?_

You hold up one of your hands to shield your eyes from the harsh sunlight. The street is busy with plenty of people going about their day, paying you no mind despite the fact that all of you always stick out like a sore thumb, even when undercover. You get some occasional glances, though they’re mostly harmless. It probably has something to do with the way the three of you walk nearly in sync, or the stoic, serious expressions that are permanently etched onto your faces.

Just as the parked Jeep comes into view, you feel Javier’s knuckles brush against your hand at your side. You know it's accidental—you’re walking just close enough to each other that your arms can sway into each other naturally—but you turn your head and look at him anyways. He meets your eyes for a few moments, and you can see the tension in his jaw, the way its edges are harder than normal. The look in his eyes is almost pained, even behind those shades. He's good at keeping a poker face but you've worked with him long enough to know better. His eyes hold a look reminiscent of the one he gave you last night, just after he’d pulled away. The thought of it sends a small wave of flutters into your chest, despite your efforts to push the sensation away. As hard as you try not to think about it, you’d give anything to know what he’s thinking right now. He doesn’t move away; the back of his hand still barely grazes against yours. You finally break eye contact, but you swear you feel him flexing his hand so that his fingers almost touch yours—your own fingers twitch in response, as though you're both tempted to wrap them in each other. Even though you’re still hanging from the edges of last night, neither of you are willing to do anything further, and certainly not in front of Steve. 

You reach the car, opening the door and hopping inside as the other two do the same. Javier immediately punches the AC button to cool off the sweltering waves of heat radiating off every inch of the car. You take a moment to glance at him in the mirror again, but this time he doesn't do the same. You're not sure where his head’s at now, but his expression is even more downcast than before. Steve breaks your train of thought with a comment on what the ambassador might want, and Javier puts the car in drive before pulling onto the road for an otherwise quiet ride back.

~

The small hole-in-the-wall restaurant you go to for your favorite comfort foods is quieter than usual today, but still busy enough to fill the place with chatter. It's a short walk away from the embassy, which allows for even more time to think—sometimes, it's too much time. You’re seated at your usual table in the corner for a late lunch, sipping on some coffee before ordering a dessert. You always seem to find yourself here on days where you need a place to yourself, just for a while.

The three of you had gone straight to the ambassador after getting back to the embassy earlier. As expected, the bosses changed their minds and wouldn’t let you do jackshit about anything—the lead on the informant, or the fact that you’d been set up. After yesterday’s bloodbath, it was collectively decided that you all should go back to doing paperwork and following routine protocol rather than work to get justice for those who were murdered. Part of it probably had to do with the mission being done under the table, and they’re peeved that Javier bypassed formalities once again. But even on your insistence of taking extra precautions, your ideas were immediately shot down and disregarded. You chuckle humorlessly at the fact that this is how it must’ve always felt for Javier, but you never understood until now. 

But what surprises you even more is that your partners didn’t seem to be on your side at all this time. Neither of them spoke up during the meeting, and Javier avoided your confused and frustrated looks the whole time. Erring on the side of caution is something you can understand from Steve—but Javier? It’s not the first time you’ve found yourselves on opposite sides, but you didn’t expect it to be like this. You don’t know who the hell replaced your partners, but you can’t help but feel a sting in your chest at the fact that you’re alone once again.

Bouncing your foot on the ground, you try without success to make some sense of things in your head. This definitely isn't the first time those assholes prevented you from doing your actual job, and yet something else tugs at your nerves. The system has always been flawed, but you've always tried to stick to guidelines and rules and protocols as best as you can. _And you're sick of it_. You're sick of innocent lives being lost, of there being no real justice served. You think of those soldiers last night, who just wanted to do their job, much like you do. And Lina, who would've done anything for a way out, and paid the highest price for it. Finally, your mind goes to Javier. It wasn't his fault, but you know well that guilt is often the only thing that tucks you into bed at night. Those fuckers set him up, as well as you, and they're getting away with it. You’ve seen what it’s done to Javier, and you can’t stand it. Why this sets you on edge even more is beyond you, but your thoughts are hardly coherent now anyways.

The sound of a chair squeaking along the greasy tile floor interrupts your thoughts. You look up to find Javier standing there with an eyebrow raised, removing his jacket and seeming to hesitate before taking a seat next to you.

"How did you find me here?" You ask softly.

"You always tell Steve you're going here when you're pissed at work,” he remarks nonchalantly.

_Are you really that predictable all the time?_ You sigh and lean back against the chair. 

A terse moment goes by without either of you saying anything. Javier pulls out a cigarette and lights it before glancing at you again, still deciding what to say.

“What the fuck was all that today, Javier?” You ask quietly, referring to the dealings with the ambassador earlier. Your voice is quiet but laced with a hint of annoyance.

Javier knows that exasperated expression in your eyes. It's the same one he's given you countless times in the past. He knows that look, but he doesn't like it on you. After the events from yesterday—all of it—something shifted in him. He can pinpoint the exact moment he felt it—it was when he felt the wave of relief flood his body once he saw you making your way out of the hotel, in one piece. All he knows is that, while he’d never say it, he won’t do anything to put you directly in harm’s way again.

“I...think it's better to be safe than sorry this time,” he admits reluctantly.

You peer at him inquisitively. “So we're supposed to just drop this like they want us to?” you scoff. “Even when this asshole is right under our noses? I don't understand.” You realize you're starting to raise your voice at that last part, and try to steady yourself.

You remind yourself that Javier's the one who was hurt the most by it all. "Are you alright?" You suddenly change the subject and he tenses up, looking down at the table. You're tempted to place your hand over his for reassurance, but resist the urge to do so. 

Javier sees the way you're looking at him, patiently waiting for an answer, and despite everything, he feels his chest soften for just a second. He's been trying not to think of you with him in his bed last night, but to no avail. That feeling of safety he felt, and the way it disappeared when you left—he hasn't come to terms with it yet. To his relief, you seem to agree to not mention it now.

“Are we ever ‘alright’? Face it, we’re fucked up for good,” He replies with a chuckle but his face is grim. The corner of your lips turns upwards into a tiny smile, sending that unforgiving feeling of softness into him again.

“Look, I don't want...anyone else getting hurt because of this shithole,” he continues. _Especially not you_. “We've got bigger fish to fry.”

You look at him intently, trying to decipher him, before shifting your eyes back to your coffee. 

"You're thinking too hard," Javier observes quietly after a moment. 

"What?"

"I can hear you thinking," he continues. "But one way or another, they'll pay for it. _We all will_." He mutters the last part under his breath, swallowing thickly when he thinks of what his choices have cost him. 

You're about to question him further when Javier puts out his cigarette and stands, pushing the chair in. “Come on. I’ll drive us back,” he gestures with a hand. Wordlessly, you grab your jacket and follow, but you can't help but feel like there's more than one thing you've both been dancing around with each other.

~

Another day passes but the gears in your head haven’t stopped grinding. The neatly printed address on the strip of paper stares you in the face, calling your name. You run your thumb across it, enough times now that the ink is starting to smear, much like your own judgment seems to be. _It makes no goddamn sense, ignoring this_. Those assholes can’t expect to find justice if they won’t follow the only lead you have. And even if they _did_ agree to act on it, it would take fucking _weeks_ and by the time the team even gets deployed, the informant would be gone without a trace. Massaging your fingers, you glance up at the empty desks around you. Steve and Javier had gone in for a meeting with the colonel, one you declined to join. You don’t want to hear more bullshit ideas from the bosses.

Sighing loudly, you rest your face on your hand, trying to occupy your mind with anything else. It doesn’t last long.

You stand up, swiftly pocketing the strip of paper and putting the paperwork you finished long ago aside. You see Steve coming out from the meeting as you tuck your gun into the back of your jeans. Javier’s lingering behind in the office, discussing something with the colonel. Grabbing your things, you walk hurriedly towards the exit, passing by Steve on the way out. He shoots you a confused look, but you say nothing as you dash past him. 

You’ve got more pressing matters at hand.

~

Javier eyes the stack of messy papers on your desk. He’d assumed you’d been in a meeting or something, but your desk has been empty for too long now, which is unsettling to him for some reason. There’s a feeling in the pit of his stomach that makes him worry more than he should. Casually, he asks Steve if he knows where you’ve been.

“She left a while ago,” he answers, disinterested. “I asked if she wanted to grab a drink with us tonight, but she looked like she had somewhere to be,” he continues, not noticing the frown that appears on Javier’s face.

He checks the time on his watch—the work day’s barely over, but you never leave early. That’s the first red flag that draws his attention, and he doesn’t need a second one before it all clicks in his head. _You left early and didn’t tell anyone?_ He feels his jaw tighten and has to force himself to relax it. Javier abruptly stands up, the chair creaking loudly as he does. 

“Murphy, did she tell you where she was going?” he asks calmly, but in a tone that makes Steve pick up on his sudden anxiety.

“I just figured she wanted to go home early,” Steve shrugs, wondering what the fuss is all about. 

Javier shakes his head at his partner’s obliviousness. He swears, immediately grabbing his gun from the drawer and slamming it shut. “Fucking hell, Murphy.”

~

Javier’s pulse nearly beats out of his chest as he drives the Jeep at a dangerous speed down the quiet nighttime streets. The address you showed him before repeats itself in his head, mocking him as he thinks of what you could be getting yourself into. He knows damn well how often he’s had to defend Murphy’s ass from his fuckups—he didn’t think he’d ever have to do the same for you, nor does he want to. He’s shared a bed with his demons often enough to know he doesn’t want you to do the same.

~

Your senses are hyper alert as you keep yourself hidden in the dark alley behind a bar in an unfamiliar neighborhood. The full night’s sky is on display now, helping with your cover. You listen anxiously to the two men speaking loudly nearby—the informant, and presumably his guard. _The asshole must not be that important if he only has one guard_ , you think to yourself. With the sound of a door opening and closing and the two shadows merging, yor grip tightens around your weapon. You barely stop and think before moving swiftly into action, ready to get the information you desperately seek, and ready to force it out of him if you have to.

~

One of the things Javier’s learned from working with those sick shits is the way their fucked up minds work. An arrogant and confident narco is dangerous. But a vulnerable narco—one whose safety has been threatened—won’t rest until every sense of your peace and security has been burned to the ground, shattered beyond repair.

He swallows hard, sweat beads starting to form on his forehead as he pushes even harder on the gas. _You went alone_ , he thinks again. His iron grip on the steering wheel does little to calm his racing heart beat. Javier swears and curses under his breath when his mind reminds him of the things he’d chastised you for so many times in the past. _‘Don’t you get tired of following the damn rules?’_

~

Every sense of reservation you’ve ever felt completely leaves your body as you march up to the informant, who’s casually smoking a cigarette and is seemingly unbothered upon seeing you. If the anger in your eyes gives away your intentions, he makes no acknowledgement of it. You’re certain his guard knows you’re here, but the asshole won’t do anything about it—probably figuring you can be easily taken care of.

He looks you up and down with obvious condescension, exhaling a puff of smoke into your face as you clench your jaw with disgust. “So this is what the DEA is sending out now,” he comments with a smirk, completely unfazed.

Your stone-faced gaze never wavers as you plant yourself directly in front of his tall and rugged form. 

He chuckles obnoxiously. “ _Veo que esos cabrones andan mandando a sus putas a encargar con su trabajo_ ,” he mocks, a menacing grin on his face. _“I see those bastards are sending their bitches to take care of their work.”_

You don’t hesitate. In a split second you’re pulling out your firearm from its holster, taking him by surprise. He doesn’t have time to react before you shove him into the wall, forcefully pressing the muzzle of the gun into the underside of his jaw.

~

Javier pushes through the people in the bar, knowing exactly who he’s looking for. When he catches sight of the guard lurking in the corner, he has to use all the strength in him not to knock him unconscious then and there. He grabs the man by the collar, slamming him hard into the wall and not caring about the scene he’s causing.

“ _Where is she?_ ” Javier demands.

~

The belligerent man is testing your patience. You’re typically a more level-headed person and arguably the voice of reason on your team, but not tonight.

“I _said_ ,” you snarl, “where the _fuck_ is Escobar?” 

He laughs again and the stench of his breath deepens your scowl. “I see you’re upset because you were outsmarted,” he taunts. “But I’m happy to tell you that Agent Peña deserved what he—”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence before you remove the gun from his jaw and slam it across his face.

The man lets out a loud grunt but doesn’t falter. He attempts to grab your throat and reaches for his gun but you’re faster, knocking the weapon out of his grasp as adrenaline continues to course through your veins. You know the man could knock you down easily with one movement, yet he doesn’t, instead finding amusement in this and underestimating your rage.

“ _Puta_ ,” he spits out. His nostrils are flared and he eyes you with disgust. You ignore it, leaning into him and once again demanding information on Escobar’s whereabouts.

He responds with a feigned look of contemplation before his lips creep into a smile again, silently mocking you. Anger flows through you as you remember what he did to Javier, and then suddenly you’re seeing in tunnel vision.

His nose is already bleeding but you slam your fist into his face, getting an angry groan out of him as you scream at him once more, commanding him to give you an answer. You don’t notice the way he glances behind you, or the sound of frantic footsteps on the concrete coming your way. 

“ _Nunca le daré_ nada _a Peña ni a su_ cualquiera,” he hisses. “ _I’ll never give_ anything _to Peña or his_ whore.” You’re taken aback for a second too long processing his words, giving him the chance to roughly push you away from him. 

He deftly picks up his gun from the ground and you’re about to lunge at him when you feel a pair of sturdy arms wrap around you from behind, gently but firmly preventing you from doing so. You struggle to squirm out of their grip, swinging your legs and ready to elbow them in the face, but Steve suddenly appears in front of you, aggressively pinning down the informant after kicking his weapon away.

Your mind is still catching up and you attempt to charge at the man on the ground again, until you hear a familiar husky voice ring in your ear.

“Agent, _stop_ ,” Javier grunts from behind. “ _It’s okay_ ,” he repeats when you still try to charge at the man who’s now in handcuffs. 

Javier’s arms grip you a bit tighter until you force yourself to relax, throwing your hands up in surrender. He eases his hold on you once he notices you slowing down your breaths, but keeps his arms around you just a hair longer than necessary before finally letting you go. His senses are running on high, but the irony doesn’t escape him. He doesn’t dare to admit it aloud, but when _you_ had your arms around _him_ the other night, he knew without a doubt he was safe. You’re not in danger anymore—not from external sources. But somehow, here you are now, far from safety. 

Steve forces the informant against the brick wall, checking him for weapons before pulling him back and guiding him out of the alley. “I’ve got him,” he tells you and Javier.

Javier observes you quietly as you watch Steve take the man away. He notes the way your hands are clenched into fists at your sides, and how your lips press into a hard line before you open your mouth, wanting to say something. You’re catching your breath, or maybe you’re at a loss for words. Once they’re out of sight, you turn back to face him and the look in your eyes nearly breaks him. He knows that look—he never thought he’d see himself in someone else’s eyes, especially not yours.

“I _had_ things under control, Javier,” you fume at him. You wait for a snarky response, but he doesn’t say anything at all. When you look at him, really look at him, all you see is sorrow. Your breathing finally comes back down to a normal pace, and you feel a tinge of what might be regret. But you shake your head stubbornly, muttering again that you could’ve handled things just fine without either of them. 

You don’t notice the slight twitch of his eyebrow as Javier listens to you. Somewhere down the line, you seemed to start sharing the same dark thoughts Javier carries with him everywhere he goes. They follow him even in his sleep, and he hasn’t known peace in so long because of them. He’s done a lot over the years that he's not proud of, all in the name of this job—this goddamn job that’s cost him far more than he can afford to pay. All of you know the stakes—but when he sees that look in your eyes, Javier realizes he doesn’t want you to know the home where his monsters run free. Not in the way he does. 

The anger that was in your eyes just minutes ago slowly becomes replaced with guilt when you see the way Javier looks at you. For a moment you think it’s disappointment, but it seems to be something else. “Just take us home,” you grumble, turning to walk out of the damp alley. The dim street lights reflect off the damp concrete, lighting the way back. Javier is unnervingly silent for a while before you eventually hear him following closely behind as you make your way to his car.

~

The silence is deafening on the drive home. You don’t so much as turn your head to him, both of you choosing to keep your eyes on the road. When you finally make it back to the apartment complex, Javier walks next to you, your arms barely touching his as they swing at your sides, until you reach the door of your apartment. The air in the building is frigid, leaving goosebumps on your skin, though a part of you knows it’s more than just that. 

You figure Javier’s got plenty on his mind, things he’s bound to criticize you for, so it’s no surprise when he lingers next to you at the door, running a hand over his face—whether it’s due to exhaustion or frustration, you’re unsure of. It's almost funny, considering months ago he would've been fine with all of this. 

You unlock the door and open it, the same creaky hinge welcoming you home as you step inside. Javier stands in the hall, waiting for you to invite him in with a somber expression on his face. Sighing quietly, you open the door all the way, stepping aside for him to enter.

Standing in the foyer, you don’t bother to turn on the lights so only the glow of the city lights outside peeks through your windows. You fold your arms in front of yourself as Javier pinches the bridge of his nose, neither of you willing to start.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" He finally huffs, an eyebrow raised as he shakes his head. _This isn’t what I wanted_.

"That _someone_ needed to do something, Javier," you retort. _You’re just so tired_.

"Alone?" He asks, exasperated. 

"Isn't that what you always do?" You chide. 

"I—Yes, but with _precautions_ , and I don't go confronting known _murderers_ , I—fuck." He stops mid-thought, trying to form a proper sentence. 

“I was getting information we needed—isn't that what you want me to do?” You continue, your heart rate picking up again. You step away from him until your back is against the wall. _He shouldn’t care. You don’t_ want _him to care_. “Why do you care? You’re the one always coming up with a new scheme—” Your pulse continues to quicken as the reality of what you’ve done starts to catch up with you.

"My schemes? People are _dead_ because of me. I can’t have that happen to you—do you really think that's what I want?" Javier replies, his voice louder. “After the other night?” he adds, his gruff voice suddenly dropping to a whisper. He feels his chest constrict at the thought of both of those things, his ragged breaths threatening to reveal everything. 

Your mind’s racing so fast that you don’t process his comment about your night with him. "I can take care of myself! I can manage, like I always do—" you start but he interrupts. 

"Yeah? And where’s that gotten you?” he snaps. “Why do you insist on handling things by yourself?" He asks, moving closer. He's inches away now and you're close enough that when you look up into his eyes you can't find any anger, just fear. That unwavering confidence and stubbornness that you’re used to is long gone.

"I'm fine on my own," you state resolutely, though your tone is softer. You can feel tears starting to well up in your eyes. You try to blink them away before Javier can notice them, but no one gets to be DEA without being astute to every detail. 

"You don't _have_ to be—" Javier insists, then immediately goes quiet. Y _ou deserve better than I do._

Taken aback at his words, you go silent, wrinkling your brows in confusion. His eyes drop to the ground and he presses his mouth into a hard line, the tension louder than anything either of you could ever say. The world goes silent, and it's only you and him now.

Your shoulders drop and you keep your gaze on him, watching the way he's looking at you. Somehow he's even closer, and all you seem to be able to think of is the fact that you’ve both been here before.

Realizing your fists are clenched at your side, you try to relax them and turn your attention instead to the rhythm of his chest rising and falling. Timidly, you place a shaky hand on his arm, trying to steady your racing pulse and shallow breaths. Javier hesitates for a few painstaking moments before moving his fingers to meet the skin of your wrists, slowly trailing them upwards until they reach your upper arms. You try to focus on anything but his eyes the whole time—his clenched jaw, the contours of his neck, the feeling of his warm, calloused fingers resting on your skin. You finally meet his gaze, and any attempt to stifle the embers in your chest becomes entirely unsuccessful. You’re met with dilated eyes and the sensation that he feels the same agonizing pull to you that you’ve been trying to push far away. Maybe it’s because you’re scared—of yourself, of anything this could become—but maybe it’s also because you don’t know how to be anything except alone.

When you don’t move away, Javier moves in closer, slowly, until his body is just barely pressing against yours, your back still resting against the wall. You’re grateful for its support; your knees feel weak all of a sudden. He leans into you so that his forehead briefly rests gently on yours. You’re practically sharing the same air; you catch the faint scent of his cologne. Your heart beats loud enough that you can hear it, or maybe that’s because his is pounding equally as hard and your combined sense of urgency is drowning the rest of the world out. His large hands move to either side of your waist, holding you carefully as he moves impossibly closer. In this moment, if you could bottle up the feeling in your chest and keep it safe, you would never feel alone again. The fact that he was once nothing but infuriating and now you find yourself here, like this—it’s maddening.

Javier knows this is a bad idea. He doesn't deserve to be with you like this, or in any way. But when he touches you, the warmth that runs through him is almost enough to make him feel otherwise.

You feel like your legs might give out under you just from his closeness. His nose brushes against your cheek as you tilt your head and lean in until his pillowy warm lips barely graze along your own. Your heart threatens to pound out of your chest as you listen to his shaky inhale. His hand travels up and delicately cups one side of your neck just before moving to close the space between your lips, sending a rushing wave through you that feels like home, one that you never thought you’d find here in Colombia. The thing is, you never meant to. This feeling of overwhelming solace can be ripped away from you in an instant, shot down like another pawn in the narcos' games. 

His lips don’t quite fully get to meet yours when you suddenly pull away, the waves of safety leaving a flood in their wake.

“I—no. I’m sorry,” you whisper through quiet, recovering breaths. “Look at us, Javier,” you say softly. “We’re a mess.”

Javier goes rigid for a moment, still leaning towards you, before finally pulling away. His expression is unreadable but you know he can see the sadness in your own eyes. He always _was_ able to read you like a book.

“You’re right.” Javier murmurs in feigned agreement, looking down at the floor. “We shouldn’t do this,” he continues softly, in a tone that implies otherwise and just about breaks your heart.

You see the way his hands have balled up into fists, the stiffness returning to his shoulders. Javier turns on his heels to leave, but before he takes a step away he suddenly moves back to you. 

Placing a hand on your arm, he presses the softest of kisses to your forehead, light as air but you’ve never felt heavier. It’s unexpected and enough to leave you even more unsteady on your feet. Slowly, he pulls back. You must look surprised, but the look on his face only reveals regret.

“Good night,” is all you manage to say, swallowing the lump that’s formed in your throat. He returns the words then turns to leave, shutting the door behind him and leaving you to the emptiness and silence of your apartment.


	8. Seven

_The stack of papers lands in front of you with a resounding_ smack _._

_At first your stomach drops and you feel the blood leave your face, but the feeling is quickly replaced by one of disbelief. “Suspended?” you read the words aloud, appalled at them. It’s not so much that you’re surprised, but the principle of the matter that sends anger through your veins._

_“_ Temporary _suspension, agent,” the ambassador clarifies, crossing her arms. “And it’s just from being out in the field. You’ll still have work to do here. You’re lucky it’s not more than that.”_

They’ve gotta be fucking kidding.

_“All due respect, ambassador, but I don’t understand,” you grumble._

_“Agent,” she leans forward and puts her hands on the desk. “You took_ classified _intel and used it to locate a target without permission to do so. You then proceeded to track him down by yourself and damn near compromised the investigation by doing so.”_

_“_ Compromised _the investigation?” you repeat her words incredulously. “There_ wasn’t any _investigation. No one was doing anything about that asshole—he would’ve gotten away with the murder of multiple innocent lives, scot-free, if I hadn’t done anything.”_

_“The relationship we have with the Colombian National Police is...delicate, as you know. There are protocols that we stick to when it comes to the narcos—I would’ve thought you understood that. In pursuing him on your own without the government’s go-ahead, you put yourself_ and _us in murky waters.”_

_Your mouth is tense and it takes everything in you not to get up and storm out. Whose side are they on? You’re trying to help the case against these assholes and this is what you get for it? Bullshit._

_“I advise you to be careful in future, agent,” she continues. “The shady business that Murphy and Peña tend to get into—it’s very unlike you, and I wouldn’t recommend treading those same waters. We had to pull some strings to keep your ass off the hook, and it’s not something we’ll do again. Do I make myself clear?”_

_“Crystal,” you mutter under your breath, pushing the papers back in her direction as you stand up to leave._

~

_It’s a cruel form of mockery, the way the ambassador drops another stack of paperwork in front of you onto your desk. A lesson, so-to-speak, as she hands off the irrelevant bullshit to you and walks away without a word. Not that you’ve been able to pay much attention to your work, anyways. Your partners are out in the field for the day, something you didn’t care to inquire about. You chuckle humorlessly at the irony of Steve and Javier going about their business while you’re forced to sit on the sidelines. You take a big gulp of your coffee, which is lightly laced with liquor that doesn’t seem to be strong enough to get you through the day. Sitting back in your chair, you force yourself to release the tension you’ve been holding in your shoulders and jaw._

_When it’s finally time for your break, you dip out to your usual place to pick something up before taking it with you to the benches outside the embassy. You have a feeling this spot is going to become a regular one for you. It’s just open enough to let the occasional breezes provide some relief from the glaring Colombian heat and anything that’s brewing in your mind._

_You’re well aware that, at best, all of this is a mild repercussion—a slap to the ego, nothing more. But for some reason you’re frustrated enough that you have to force back tears from your eyes, and you can’t put a finger on why._

_For a while you amuse yourself with the idea of leaving all these assholes behind—not that there’s much else for you here. You’ve given up a lot for this job—parts of yourself, that’s for sure. It never seems to give anything back. If regularly putting your life in danger isn’t enough, you have to deal with the condescension from the higher-ups and their ideas of what’s right or wrong. But ultimately, you're not here for them. You have a job to do and you'll keep doing it, just like you always have, until Escobar goes down._

_"I'm doing my fucking best," you tell yourself out loud, a reminder above all else._

_It’s almost time for you to go back when you hear some familiar footsteps sauntering towards you, Javier’s figure appearing as he takes a seat beside you. The bench creaks as you shift in your spot, making room for him. In all of today’s mess, you’ve almost forgotten about what happened—and what didn’t—last night with him._

_You caught his eye a few times while at the desk this morning, but nothing else. It’s been awkward—somewhere in between deer-in-the-headlights and regret. Steve looked at you with pity, and there was a bit of that in Javier's eyes, but something else as well. Mostly you've been dodging any mentions of last night, reverting back to the usual state of pretending nothing happened at all. It's been the same, exhausting back and forth between two people who can't seem to figure themselves out._

_You don’t turn to face him, nor does he try to look you in the eyes as he leans forward in his seat, putting out the cigarette he’s been holding._

_You run your hands down your face and shake your head. “I don’t want to do this right now, Javier,” you tell him, your voice softer than you want it to be._

_Several moments pass before Javier can find any words to say. “I know. I just—I’m...sorry. About the suspension,” he mutters, his voice rough and disconcerted._ And everything else, too _, he thinks to himself. “It’s fucked up,” he mutters under his breath. It's like you're both walking on eggshells, avoiding the bottom of the iceberg. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Not by my standards, anyways,” he continues._

_You turn to face him, a hint of feigned amusement in your eyes. “Are you worried about me, Javier?”_

_Javier feels his chest constrict, just for a second. “Me? Never,” he jests, and the air between you weighs a little bit less. You both let out a soft chuckle and turn to face the vast, open field in front of you again. You can't tell that there's a part of him that aches, despite his best attempts to suppress the feeling. You’d pushed him away, but he could never hold that against you. He’s not often alone, not when he doesn’t want to be, but that doesn’t make a person any less lonely. Some people deserve to be alone with their sins._

_He keeps a good-sized distance from you on the bench, too far for his own liking but close enough that he has to physically resist the need to reach out to you. He doesn’t want to bring up last night any more than you do, but he hates that he hasn’t been able to think of anything else. It wasn’t until he’d left your apartment that he realized he was in deeper than he wanted to be._

_“You know, I—” you start, clasping your hands together. You finally turn to him, and he mirrors you. “I could never stand the way you did things. But I...I want you to know that I get it now.”_

_Javier ponders on your words, but remains silent. After a moment, he sighs and nods. You fall silent as well, but the two of you exchange awkward glances, unsure of how to even address what happened last night. So you don’t._

_“I know that this wouldn't be a big deal for you,” you add after a minute. “Really, it’s not a big deal to me either. It could be worse. I don’t know why…”_ But you know exactly what’s bothering you.

_“Things will be back to normal soon enough,” Javier tells you._ What if he doesn’t want them to be? _You nod once, and Javier wishes he could believe the words himself._

_With nothing else to say, you sit there quietly in each other’s presence for a few more minutes, neither of you in any hurry to go back in._

~

You open your eyes to a mostly dark room, vaguely aware of the cool surface of the pillow on your face as you roll over onto your side. You rub the sleep from your eyes and then your neck, which is stiff from a bad sleeping position. The streets of Colombia are still quiet outside, so all you hear is the humming of the AC in your bedroom. You’re barely conscious but you already wish your head was as silent as your surroundings. It’s funny how you’d grown used to sleeping in a bed that’s too big for one person, the space next to you cold and empty as it’s always been. You never really noticed it before. But for some reason you slept next to his warmth just once and now find yourself unable to handle the coldness anymore. 

It’s been a week since your encounter with the informant, and since your...situation with Javier. The plush padding of the mattress and rough covers do little to bring you comfort as you let out a quiet groan, shoving the blanket off yourself. With only a ringing silence to keep you company, you can’t help but think of _yesterday_ night, when the man of the hour showed up unannounced and semi-inebriated at your door. You feel as though you could sink further into the bed and just disappear for a while, and honestly, you wouldn’t mind it.

~

_“Javier?” You whisper, putting your gun back down on the shelf. “It’s almost one in the morning.” You’d answered the door cautiously after hearing three soft knocks, not expecting to find Javier standing there, leaning against the door frame._

_“I...wanted to see you…” he mutters, and he hopes you don't catch the faint scent of alcohol. He doesn't know what made him turn the hallway to your door when he'd gotten home, but when you opened the door it was too late to change his mind._

_“Are you drunk?” you ask, stepping forward to guide him back to his own place._

_“Almost,” Javier answers with a tilt of the head. He's a little buzzed, but it's not enough. There's been a lot of 'almosts' lately. You. A partner he had no choice but to work with. Almost the most infuriating person he knew. Almost tolerable. Almost a friend. Almost… He's tired of almosts._

_He observes silently as your eyes flick to the ground then back up to him, sensing your apprehension. "I'm...sorry," Javier stands up straighter. "I don't know what I…I'll leave if you want," he sputters, turning back toward his apartment._

_You stop him by gently touching his arm, sending a warmth into his chest that he blames on his currently hazy state of mind._

_"No, you can come in, if you'd like...I should get some water in you, anyways" you tell him._

_He drops his shoulders and slips his hands into his jean pockets, nodding. You open the door wider and gesture for him to enter, locking it behind him. He trods towards the living room and plops himself down on the sofa as you fetch him a glass of water before joining him. You're careful to leave a small space between you and him on the lumpy seat._

_You watch as he takes a sip, waiting for him to say whatever he needs to._

_The dim incandescent lighting draws attention to the ever-prominent dark circles under his eyes. It’s probably been a long time since the man’s had a decent sleep, not that the same struggle doesn’t follow you as well. "You look like shit, Javier," you comment playfully when he doesn't say anything._

_He scoffs, taking another sip of water and resisting the urge to light a cigarette right now._

_“About the other night…” he starts, then trails off, unsure of where he’s going with this._

_“We really don’t have to talk about it,” you tell him, gently. You reach out to touch his arm, but quickly take it back._ Or maybe it’s _you_ that doesn’t want to talk about it.

_Javier notes the way you’re holding your arms close to yourself, rubbing your hands together nervously. An anxious tic you always resort back to. People don’t change, but his feelings about them might have._

_“No, I—” he starts again. “I think you were right. We shouldn’t be doing any of this,” he goes on, his tone soft._ He’s a goddamn liar, and he knows it. 

_“But you’re here anyways,” you reply. It almost sounds like a question, the way you say it. “It was my fault for…”_

_“No,” he cuts you off. “You deserve better than someone like me.”_

_“Don’t fucking say that, Javier,” you snap at him, sitting a bit straighter._

_“The things I’ve done…” he shakes his head, not meeting your eyes._

_“We’ve both had to do a lot of questionable shit here,” you continue. “I’m sorry that I didn’t understand before. But I meant what I said the other day, about why you do things the way you do. I may not have agreed, but I understand now.”_

_Javier only looks at you, having nothing to say to that. “Sometimes I think we’re hurting ourselves more than anyone else,” you add, thinking out loud. “Besides...you’re not the only one with issues,” you muse. “Like you said to me once, we’re fucked up. Look at me, I don’t know how to not be alone…” you trail off, warmth rushing to your face as you hope that he won’t remember any of this in the morning. But that’s a false hope, and you know it._

_Javier listens quietly, wondering at what point it was that he started to understand you, too. His mind might be foggy, but the alcohol seems to make other things clearer for him._

You’re not alone. _“You have Murphy and me,” Javier shrugs. “Fuck those other assholes.”_

_"I'm not used to anyone needing me," you whisper._

_"I need you," he admits before he realizes he's said it out loud._

_His breath hitches but he tries to play it off. "I mean, we—" He gestures with a hand but forgets he's holding the glass, so it falls onto the tile floor, both of you flinching when it shatters into many small fragments._

_Javier swears, instinctively reaching down to pick up the pieces without thinking before you can stop him. One of the larger shards nicks his skin and he swears again as some blood starts to pool on his fingers._

_"Fuck, Peña," you hiss, grabbing a cloth off the table and pressing it into the cut. You immediately become aware of his large, warm hand resting against your own._

_Hurriedly dabbing at the broken skin until the bleeding slows, you look up to find that his eyes are on you and not his fresh cut. He looks at you like the blood on his hand is the last thing on his mind. Holding his gaze for a few moments, you swallow quietly and avert your eyes, gesturing for him to hold the cloth down with his free hand while you get up to go grab the first aid kit._

_When you come back, Javier mutters something about being careful of the glass that’s still on the floor._

_“I’m not an_ idiot _, Javier,” you tease._

_He chuckles dryly, looking down at his hand as you sit back down and open the kit._

_"Alright, let me see." You hold out your hand and he places his in yours as you remove the cloth to examine it._

_"Always so careful," you mutter as he flinches when you dab the spot with alcohol. You turn his hand over, checking for any pieces that might've gotten stuck._

_Javier can't stop focusing on the way your soft hands feel on his rough, calloused ones. His head is throbbing, not only from the alcohol but also from a racing mind and a pulse that’s loudly pounding in his chest. You're about ten times gentler than he was when he'd insisted on changing his own dressing after the gunshot incident. Almost as gentle as you were the night you'd stayed with him in bed._

_“Sometimes I’m glad I got shot,” Javier says suddenly, so quietly that for a second you think you misheard him. You finish up applying the bandage, peering at him curiously._

_“Why’s that?” you humor him, hearing the slightly inebriated unsteadiness in his tone._

_Javier feels his eyelids getting heavier, but his mind is still somewhat alert._

_“You’re less infuriating now,” he mumbles, his words starting to blur together. You smirk at that, raising an eyebrow at him._ It looks like you’re almost as reckless as he is now.

_You don’t know how else to respond to that, so you ignore it.“There,” you say, letting go of his hand. “Just like new.”_

_Javier whispers a quiet_ thanks _and rubs at the bandage, his mind a bit foggy as he looks at you. You look flustered, lost in some thought. It’s silent for long enough that the tension in the room becomes sharper than the shards of glass._

_You nod once, brushing your hands together before standing. “Let me get all of this cleaned up,” you tell him as you take everything with you back to the kitchen._

_You’re only mildly surprised when you return after a few minutes to find Javier with his eyes shut on the couch, mouth slightly agape and his arms splayed out against his sides. You huff and shake your head in amusement, turning to grab the knitted blanket from the other sofa. You shake it out, gently placing it over him and tucking it over his shoulders. He shifts subconsciously, already fast asleep as you bend down to clean up the glass on the floor. Before switching off the lamp you smile softly at the sight of him. You could send him home, but this is probably your only chance at getting him to sleep. It’s rare that anyone gets to see a resting, relaxed Javier Peña, and this is probably as close as it gets._

_Before you head back to your own room, you readjust the small pillow at his side, should he fall over to an uncomfortable angle overnight. You set a new glass of water on the coffee table and suddenly become aware of the feeling that your apartment feels less empty now, like the deafening silence that’s usually in your home has become replaced by something you never thought you’d find here. This feeling that's been in your chest this whole time, the one you've been trying so hard to push away, makes itself known every chance it gets._

_“You’re not so bad yourself,” you whisper, the admission barely loud enough for you to hear._

~

Everything that Javier’s ever done, he’s done by himself, if at all possible. And then he deals with the consequences alone. This has always been intentional—if the blood is on his hands alone, then only he can see the worst things in himself. No casualties except the good intentions that might’ve been there before.

The moving vehicle runs over a pothole in the road, the jolt bringing Javier back to the present assignment at hand. It’s just another run-of-the-mill one, some sketchy location to check out, but it feels like he’s been in this car for hours, trapped with no reprieve from his incessantly tireless mind. Trujillo navigates from the front seat while Murphy is seated next to him in the back, muttering something about his plans later this evening. The middle back seat is empty, sans-you, and Javier ruminates on how there was a time where he would’ve begged for such a situation. 

He and Murphy are pissed on your behalf, too, but it’s just a short term thing and they’ll have to make do with Trujillo until you’re back. He lets out a quiet huff and Murphy looks at him, brows raised with a knowing expression. Javier shakes his head, brushing him off, and stares back out the window. Even with the AC on blast in the car, there’s no escape from the heat of the afternoon sun. He swipes at the beads of sweat on his forehead, impatiently waiting for this assignment to be over with. 

“Ay, Peña, why so glum?” Trujillo jeers from the front. “At least it wasn’t your ass on the line, for once,” he remarks.

Javier and Steve’s heads both snap up. “Fuck off, Trujillo,” Javier shoots him down, wiping the grin off his face. 

A wave of guilt suddenly floods through him. He’d inadvertently put you in danger multiple times, and now your job had been compromised, too. Maybe the latter wasn’t entirely his fault, but when he found you with the informant and saw the look in your eyes, he recognized it as something he often saw in the mirror. And you deserve better than to sleep with the monsters in his bed. 

He’d known exactly what you were doing when you’d pushed him away, but he still let you do it, for everyone’s best interest. Still, there’s a small part of him that didn’t want you to. Javier is far from deserving to have something like that, something good, where the demons might quiet down just a bit. But it’s a calming thought nonetheless.

After his semi-drunken talk with you the other night, he’d held on to a small fragment of hope that you might change your mind about everything. He remembers the conversation vividly, especially the parts of him that had been made bolder by the liquor. 

Murphy casts a glance at him again, probably wondering what the fuck has been wrong with him. Javier doesn’t know himself. Somewhere between getting shot and now, something’s been different for him. He’s always been cautious to let anyone in for too long; his home has always been a dark place with room for just one. He never thought you’d be the one to sneak up on him like this. 

Right from the beginning you’d wanted nothing to do with each other, which, considering how much he couldn’t stand you anyways, he had been perfectly content on keeping it this way. 

Even from your first day as partners, you'd clashed with each other on just about everything. Things were kept professional, of course, but there wasn't much beyond mere civility. Going off the fact that you were nothing like him, Javier kept a distance. One less thing to stress about. He nearly laughs at the irony of it now.

Javier knows he’s still the same man as he was back then. People rarely change. But one infuriating, stubborn person might have helped him see a different side of things. He’s hardly ever thought of himself as a good man, but when he’s around you, he starts to let himself believe it.

He’s a man who can find company if he wants it. Someone to let off steam with and then move on from, left alone with himself. But for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t want to be anymore. Javier’s spent many nights lying in a newly-empty bed, playing with the idea of not facing the darkness alone. Of having someone’s warm presence next to him under the covers of a heavy night. Until lately, he hadn’t realized that it’s not just _anyone_ he wants by his side in that cold, vacant space, but you.

~

It’s been another long, tedious day at work, so you’re eager to finally get in your car and make your way home. You’re one of the last to leave the office, as usual, even if you don’t have any need to stay after-hours. 

It’s not as hot this evening, but the forecast said there would be rain later tonight so the air is still disgustingly humid, the moisture sticking to you as soon as you step outside the embassy. The clouds have already started coming in, so the sky is a dark grey smearing of hues. Your shoes clack on the concrete on your way to the car, but your heels don’t ache the way they do when you’ve been out in the field. As strange as it is, you don’t mind the way your body aches after a productive day, so you miss it. Your muscles are tense, but it’s not from being at your desk all day. You slam the car door shut behind you, noting the circles under your eyes in the mirror before sighing and starting the engine.

When you finally make it back to your apartment complex, you decide that you don’t want to go inside just yet. The frustration has long since left you, but now you’re just...exhausted, from more than one thing. You need somewhere to just breathe, and start walking towards the small park next to the apartments. You don’t mind the fact that the storm clouds are getting darker, a small rumble of thunder sounding off in the distance. You round the corner and step off the concrete path towards a grassy area with some park benches. There aren’t many trees here and there isn’t much to look at, but it’s a nice place to sit and think, so it’ll do. It’s here that you allow yourself to completely immerse yourself in everything that’s been on your mind. 

You’ve always weathered things on your own, especially here. There’s too much risky business that goes on for you to complicate things by involving anyone else. The more blood and damage you see, the more you’ve been able to convince yourself that your decisions were for the best. You never expected this to be complicated by one Javier Peña. You’ve been doing your best to ignore your feelings, but sometimes that’s more exhausting than facing them headfirst. There’s been many nights where you’ve had your emotions gutted raw by the things you’ve seen and done, but it’s never occurred to you that you’re not only one who’s carried it alone. Not until recently, anyways. 

Javier has always been one to not let anyone in. You’d never considered that he’s a lot like you. He’s reckless about his ways, albeit passionate. You’ve always thought of yourself as hesitant; reserved until you can think things through. But you’ve kept people away, too, and maybe that’s been reckless in itself. It’s hard to keep people close when you live a life like this one. But it’s been a while now that you’ve known you wanted more, that it wouldn't be anymore dangerous than what you already do. You can only hope that you haven’t fucked things up permanently with him.

You fidget with the buttons on your cardigan, unclasping then clasping them, just about ready to head home, when a loud crack of thunder interrupts your thoughts, sending with it the onset of the rainfall. With no cover, you ought to run back, but you opt to stay put instead of running from the storm. The rain starts to pour, slowly, until it becomes a steady downfall. You feel it soak your hair first, then your shoulders as the cold wetness absorbs into the fabric of every layer of the rest of your clothes, leaving goosebumps in its wake. It drips down and covers your eyelashes and you have to blink them away in order to see. You don’t know how long you’re there for, but the rain continues to fall gently and you close your eyes, savoring the nice change of weather as it coats your hair and skin. 

After a while longer, you feel the pouring stop and open your eyes, expecting to find a calmer sky. Instead, you find Javier standing over you, holding an umbrella that’s barely big enough to cover you both. 

The expression on his face is unreadable, but he takes a seat next to you, not leaving any space in between your bodies this time, the warmth of his skin calming against your own. He holds the umbrella in one hand, the other brushing the curls out of his face as he meets your eyes, a barely-there but reassuring smile on his lips. 

Something about this moment makes you feel all the more vulnerable; exposed. Still, you know that you're safe, at least in this very moment. You give him a tiny smile in return, holding back a shiver. Explanations don’t seem to be needed as you sit silently, only paying attention to the rain falling into puddles in front of you and the way you’re tucked neatly against him, both of you devoid of any tension for the first time in a while.

Wordlessly, you lean onto his shoulder, resting your head on him. Not a single word is spoken, but nothing has to be said when you both already know. The rain continues to hit the umbrella with soft patters above you. You stay like that for a while, simply existing in each other’s presence, until Javier softly nudges you. 

“Come on, let’s get you inside,” he tells you. You nod and follow as he walks with you back to the complex, arm-to-arm but not touching otherwise. Once you get to cover, he shakes out the umbrella before closing it, along with some of the water droplets that landed in his now-messy hair.

You’re cold as soon as you step inside, the air chilling your wet clothes and hair. Both of your shoes squeak as you make your way down the hallway. He stops when you approach his door, which is closer to the entrance than your own.

“Do you want to come in?” he murmurs softly. It's not often that you find Javier Peña unsure of himself, but his voice is telling. You think on it for a moment, but it’s without hesitation when you nod again.

He unlocks the door and you follow him in, shrugging off your damp cardigan. He tosses the keys on the counter and turns on the lamp, then looks you up and down. You’re soaked from head to toe, with your hair plastered to your skin.

“Stay there, I’ll be right back,” he says, quickly walking to his room. You walk over to the living room and shuffle on your heels as you wait for him to return.

When he reappears he’s already changed into a dry shirt, and comes over to you with a thick towel in hand. You hold out your hand for it but he ignores the motion, moving closer as he delicately wraps the towel around your head, gently dabbing the dampness out of your hair. He keeps his eyes on you the whole time, looking at you with an intensity you haven’t seen from him before, not even the last time you’d been this close to him. Delicately, he pats the towel along your face and neck, wiping away the rest of the droplets of rain. You feel your breaths getting shaky but you don’t look away. His lips are slightly parted as he removes the towel, tossing it aside without breaking eye contact and stepping closer, with a hint of hesitation. He’s inches away, holding himself carefully in front of you, close enough for you to feel his warm breaths on your cheeks.

There’s a mutual understanding as he glances down at your lips then back up to your eyes, and Javier softly places an arm around your waist, pulling you in against him and closing the space between your bodies as you set a hand on his chest. It may be in your imagination, but you can feel his heart pounding, too. His other hand hovers timidly over your cheek before moving to rest on the space beneath your jaw as he leans in even closer, still looking into your eyes as your own heart threatens to race out of your chest. 

Practically the only things not touching are your lips, his and your patience both wearing thin until there’s none left.

“You alright?” he asks quietly, running the pad of his thumb over your cheek.

“Yeah,” you whisper in response, nearly breathless.

You hear him swallow before he gently presses his forehead to yours, his eyes half-closed. “You’re not going to run away again, are you?” Javier teases, but his voice is hoarse, the words cracking a little as they leave his lips. You can’t think straight, simply shaking your head and letting out a quiet chuckle.

Every time this has happened before, you’ve felt the heated, maddening desperation in the room. But when Javier finally presses his lips to yours, it's just one small kiss at first, then a pause, before he kisses you again, softly and carefully, more than you’d ever thought was possible for him. His lips are warm against your own, which are still cold from the rain. He keeps a hand resting along your back, holding you flush against him as you feel him relax fully into you. You run your hand through the curls of his hair, his breath warm on your tongue as his lips move against yours. 

He moves his hand from your face, breaking the kiss with a smirk on his face. His breathing is quickened, both of you left winded. Your knees have gone weak; you hardly know how you’re still able to stand.

“You know, the bosses wouldn’t like this, but I guess you don’t mind—” he chuckles as you grip his shirt tighter, pulling him closer to you.

“Shut up, Peña, I—” his lips crash back onto yours before you can finish the sentence. He kisses you fervently, all-consumingly, but he’s far from being rough. Javier doesn’t like to take his time with anything, but when your whole body is curved against his like this, he wants all the time in the world.

The soft kisses become slower until you finally break away from each other, try to steady yourselves. Javier places one last kiss to your lips before resting his forehead on yours again. His eyes remain closed as you reach up and tenderly stroke his cheek with your thumb, feeling the way his jaw is completely relaxed.

He finally opens his eyes, trailing the backs of his fingers down your cheek to your jaw. “Will you stay tonight?” he asks, still catching his breath.

"If you can manage not to injure yourself this time," you mutter playfully.

Javier chuckles, gently pressing his lips to your forehead.

"You are _infuriating_ , agent," he whispers, keeping himself close to you.

"So are you," you tell him, a smile on your lips.

Javier rests his forehead against yours, moving his hand back to your cheek. 

For the first time in a long time, Javier knows he’ll rest through the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from my tumblr @bestintheparsec


End file.
